


On the Run and Go

by longly



Series: see you after we win the war [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cooking, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Iroh is the best dad, Japanese Poetry, Lu Ten (Avatar) Lives, Ozai's A+ Parenting, Pai Sho, References of PTSD, Swords, found family is my kink, just a lot of trauma all around, lu ten is so soft for his baby cousin and it shows, my honey baby, taking gratuitous advantage of my chinese background, the transformative powers of cookery, zuko is 12 in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:42:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longly/pseuds/longly
Summary: Zuko choked on a sob and, impossibly, Lu Ten’s ghost gripped his hand tighter.“I’m here, baby cousin, I’m here.” Said the ghost of Lu Ten, and Zuko felt warm fingers brush gently across his scalp, carding through Zuko’s sweat-soaked hair.“M’ sorry that you’re dead,” Zuko wept, pressing his head feverishly into the touch, “I miss you. I miss you so much.”Featuring a still very much alive Lu Ten, the slow revival of Zuko's self esteem, and how ending a war begins at home.
Relationships: Iroh & Lu Ten, Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Lu Ten & Zuko
Series: see you after we win the war [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846951
Comments: 114
Kudos: 872





	1. On the Transformative Power of Cookery

**Author's Note:**

> This one took a long time because baby Zuko was really hard to write, and then when I buckled down and did it, he insisted on writing himself. And then _and then_ once again the word count spiralled and now I have to break it up into chapters. Is this a flex or a complaint? Who knows. 
> 
> _Title from The Run and Go: Twenty One Pilots._

Zuko was burning. Burning and burning without relief. Sometimes the pain felt distant, beyond his reach behind the veil of the bitter sedatives the healers made him chew. Other times it made him want to rip his face off, cut off his ear, gouge out his eye only if it would make it _all stop._

His father never came to see him, but Azula did, the day the healers tried to save as much of his face as they could. Her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand, and through the haze of pain and panic he had caught the edge of her cold smile.

It was easy to lose track of time. Delirious, he’d catch a glimpse of his mother’s robes from the corner of his good eye and beg her to turn around, voice slippery with bile. His grandfather, too, haunted him, and he’d been dead for moons, summers, solstices.

Then one day, he opened his eye and it was Lu Ten by his bedside holding his hand. He was dreaming again, of course. Lu Ten was dead, buried by Earth Kingdom soldiers so deep into the ground they could not find his body to burn the bones.

Zuko choked on a sob and, impossibly, Lu Ten’s ghost gripped his hand tighter.

“I’m here, baby cousin, I’m here.” Said the ghost of Lu Ten, and Zuko felt warm fingers brush gently across his scalp, carding through Zuko’s sweat-soaked hair.

“M’ sorry that you’re dead,” Zuko wept, pressing his head feverishly into the touch, “I miss you. I miss you so much.”

The touch stilled but did not dissolve. Zuko cracked open a blurry eye and Lu Ten was still there, looking older than when Zuko saw him last, but still familiar.

“I’m not dead,” Said the ghost of Lu Ten, and the fingers around Zuko’s hand tightened, “Who told you that?”

“Father said,” Zuko mumbled, sniffling into his bandages, “That’s why he has to be Fire Lord now, because Uncle’s so sad.”

“Son of a _bitch, motherfucker_ ,” Hissed the ghost of Lu Ten, which would have been funny if Zuko hadn’t flinched on instinct, aggravating the wrecked side of his face.

“Oh fu- shit…take mushrooms, Zuko, don’t move.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Zuko said after the pain had subsided enough to talk, “But I don’t think ghosts can get in trouble for swearing.”

“We’ll see about that.” Was the last thing Zuko heard before he slipped under again.

After that, the ghost of Lu Ten proved to be the most persistent of his hallucinations, sat by his bedside as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He did not know why the spirit lingered, and why by him and not Uncle.

Maybe he was dying. Maybe he was already dead. But Zuko was almost certain dead people didn’t hurt; all over and this much.

Zuko woke in degrees to the sound of low voices murmuring over his head. His eyes were still closed, and on instinct he let his breaths go slow and deep, like when he was trying to trick Azula into thinking he was still asleep. One of the voices sounded like Lu Ten’s, but that was impossible, right? The other voice…not grandfather, or his father, or one of the healers; but then who…

“—received letters from the colonies.”

“Well it’s not gonna look great if we say we’re suing for peace, oh but by the way, we’re still gonna leave our troops there.”

“I understand how you feel, but change will not happen overnight.”

Oh.

Zuko opened his eyes.

Iroh did not seem to know how to touch him. Zuko badly wanted a hug but did not know how to ask.

The crown of the Fire Lord rested in his uncle’s gray hair. Zuko did not know how to ask about that either.

“Uncle?” Zuko whispered. The years had given Uncle’s face new lines, but his eyes were as kind as Zuko remembered.

“Hello,” Uncle breathed, as if anything louder would break Zuko into pieces, “How are you feeling?”

Zuko had heard the question in a hundred variations in the past few days, but this was the first time it was asked with such genuine care. Zuko swallowed around the lump in his throat, and shrugged a little.

“I’m not bad.” Zuko said truthfully. The whole left side of his face was numb. He could barely even feel the bandages wound around his head.

In the absence of pain, shame began to curdle in his belly. His father had never made it a secret Zuko was the disappointment of the family, but at least Uncle had been gone for the worst of it. His good eye blurred, and Uncle’s face crumbled.

“Hey, hey,” Zuko heard from his other side, and when Zuko turned his head, there was Lu Ten. Still there, and more solid than anything.

“I don’t understand,” Zuko said. Lu Ten sucked in a breath, looking more serious than Zuko had ever seen him.

“Here,” Lu Ten said, and held out his hand, palm up. Zuko looked at it blankly until Lu Ten huffed something like a laugh and wriggled his fingers.

The first touch of Lu Ten’s hand was like breaking the surface of water on a burning summer’s day. Lu Ten gently turned their hands around to hold Zuko’s properly.

“I never died in Ba Sing Se.” Lu Ten said quietly as Zuko’s heart pounded in his ears. 

“They said they buried you.” Zuko said, so hoarse he wasn’t sure he even made a sound.

“They did,” Lu Ten said, almost amiably, “Then I dug out.”

Zuko blinked, his mouth slackening. He turned to look at Uncle, and the fondly exasperated look on his face was a warm and familiar thing. Zuko’s chest constricted, and it was ridiculous now to feel so intensely homesick and lonely and unloved, but it came crashing down all at once and Zuko— 

“Breathe, nephew,” Iroh commanded gently, and Zuko took a shuddering breath. Lu Ten took Zuko’s other hand with shining eyes like he was going to cry, which was ridiculous because Lu Ten was a thousand feet tall and the bravest warrior ever and _never cried._

Zuko looked between his uncle and his cousin and realized they were all breathing together. He watched his uncle’s chest rise and fall, and some of his light-headedness cleared away. The left side of his face was starting to hurt a little, but not as bad as before, and definitely not as bad as the day his father seared his lesson against his skin.

“Is he dead?” Zuko said at last, his voice trembling at the end.

His uncle and Lu Ten exchanged looks over his head, and Zuko wanted to yell that he was _right here_ and not a stupid baby.

“You need to rest,” Lu Ten said at last, “Maybe later—”

“Please.” Zuko interrupted. He was tired, so tired.

“Ozai lives,” Uncle said finally, and Zuko clenched his teeth against the nauseating wave of emotion that swept through him. “I managed to subdue him, but he escaped before his trial. Officially, he is banished on pain of death.”

“Alright,” Zuko said, blinking hard, “And…and Azula? Is she here?”

“She is not,” Uncle said, a great sadness weighing down his voice, “He took her when he left.”

“Is she banished too?” Zuko said in a small voice. _Am I?_ He wanted to ask, but courage deserted him, and the words would not come.

“I would take her back in a heartbeat,” Uncle said gently, “But things are…complicated right now.”

“She’s ten,” Zuko said hoarsely. His sister was horrible, and she lied and loved to hurt him, and he disliked her most of the time, but he also loved her. He’d always love her.

“We know, Zuko, we know,” Lu Ten said like his heart was breaking, “We’ll talk about it some more when you’re better. I promise.”

_Better_ came slowly but surely. The first time Zuko was presented with a mirror, he blacked out, overloaded with emotion. He came to with glass sticking out of his knuckles, blood staining his palms, seeping into the lifelines.

Lu Ten was the one that pulled out the glass, soothing the cuts with ointment, and re-dressing the wound until it scabbed over. Lu Ten didn’t say things were okay, or that they were going to be fine. Instead, he spoke of his travels, the girls he’d met along the way, the stories he’d heard at different towns and sketchy taverns.

But it was Uncle who came and stayed with him at night, soothing his forehead with his large warm hand, and reading his maps and scrolls by Zuko’s bedside until Zuko fell asleep. It was still strange to jolt out of a nightmare and not be alone. To weep and reach out blindly, and be cradled tenderly back to sleep.

Zuko jolted awake from such a dream, the smell of burning flesh lingering like incense in the back of his throat. He coughed once, trying to dislodge it.

Uncle was already moving, and a cup of hot tea was pressed into Zuko’s hands once Zuko had managed to sit up. Zuko sipped at it for lack of anything to do. His teeth buzzed. He was so tired.

“You’re still here.” Zuko said, in a voice so small he wasn’t sure Uncle heard. Iroh brushed a large soothing palm over Zuko’s hairline, cupping the back of Zuko’s skull despite the cold sweat matting his hair.

“I am.” Uncle said quietly, shuffling his documents aside so he could sit closer. Zuko clutched the cup in his hands tighter. The grooves around the ceramic bit into his palms, grounding him to the present. His heart juddered in his chest. _I am alive. I am alive._

“Why?” Zuko breathed, and hated himself for asking. But. He had to know.

“You are my family, and my beloved nephew,” Iroh said gently, “I could not leave you alone in your pain, any more than I could leave Lu Ten.”

Zuko sniffed, blinking hard at the bedclothes covering his legs. Uncle’s words made his heart hurt, but not in a bad way. Uncle’s hand dropped to rub soothing circles against his back as Zuko hiccupped, reaching up to dash away the tears gathering on his cheeks.

“So I can stay?” Zuko said. The hand stilled.

“Stay?” Uncle repeated.

“Here.” Zuko said. His tea was getting cold. If he was a better bender it would be warm, still.

A lot of things would be different if he was a better bender.

Zuko pressed the cup against his lips to wet it, let the bitter liquid flatten against his tongue.

“Prince Zuko, please look at me.” Uncle said. Zuko jerked to obey, the title ringing in his ear. He hadn’t known that it still applied. “Why you would think otherwise?”

Zuko stared. His uncle was not a cruel man, but to have to deliver grounds for his own removal in the middle of the night…a test? Zuko squared his shoulders, ignoring the twinge of pain in his ear as he clenched his teeth, thinking.

Okay, tests. He could do tests.

“My father is a traitor,” Zuko said first, because that was the easiest thing, the most obvious, “And you would take Azula back, but it’s complicated. And mom— my mother…”

_Zuko, please, my love, listen to me. Everything I've done, I've done to protect you._

Zuko shuddered. The healers had been neither quiet nor subtle about passing gossip over his head when they thought he was sleeping. But mom had always been gentle. He could not imagine the rumors were true. But. But.

“I understand why,” Zuko said, twisting his hands around the blanket. He had thought about this a long time, and the conclusion was always the same. “It’s the right thing for you to do, for being Fire Lord, if I was banished too.”

The Fire Nation was built on the principle of honour, and the only way to do it was to purge. Zuko had learned this from history lessons, his grandfather’s speeches, the back of his father’s hand. His family was a stain, and he was too.

Uncle’s face had gone blank. Slowly, so slowly, his uncle withdrew his hand from Zuko’s back. Zuko felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. This was it, then.

And so, it was to his deepest horror, that the _Fire Lord_ rose, took a step back, and bowed so low his head was level with Zuko’s bed. Zuko jerked out of his bedclothes, scrambling across the vast mattress on his hands and knees. He didn’t know what he was about to do, only that he wanted, needed, his uncle to _lift his head._

“I am sorry,” Iroh said, freezing Zuko in place on the bed, one hand outstretched towards his uncle, “I am so deeply sorry.”

“What? You don’t—” Zuko breathed out, heart stuck in his throat. His scar throbbed in time with his panicked breathing and still his uncle did not unbend.

“I do,” Iroh continued gently, “I see now that I have done you a great dishonor. Zuko, prince of the Fire Nation, and first of his name. This is your home, and there is nothing _anyone,_ not your father or sister or mother, could ever do for me to drive you from it.”

Zuko opened his mouth, and what strangled out sounded caught between a howl and a sob. He stuffed his hands against his mouth, squeezed his eyes shut, and burst into tears.

Iroh’s voice washed over him, closer now, shushing nonsense in Zuko’s good ear. And then Iroh was hugging him, ink and steel and jasmine replacing the stench of burning flesh. Zuko fumbled blindly out to clutch his uncle back and wailed into Iroh’s collar. He wanted his mom so much it hurt.

“I should have told you,” Uncle said, his large hand cupping the back of Zuko’s skull, carded through his shaggy hair, “I had supposed you a child, and that you knew I loved you.”

It was too much. Zuko heard the words but could not understand them. Uncle did not press the subject, allowing Zuko to hiccup into the comforting darkness of his robes until Zuko drifted off into sleep without meaning to.

And then, eventually, there were good days too.

He was allowed out of bed now, even though walking around was tough with only one good eye and only a little more than one ear. He still got headaches whenever he moved his head too fast, but at least the nausea was fading as he got used to it.

Having time to recover was weird. He kept expecting to be told to get back to his studies or his training, aware that time was slipping away and he hadn’t mastered even half the forms Azula could do with ease.

But it was nice too, to wake up and remember he did not have to face his tutors and their sharp criticisms. To sit and spend long hours in the garden reading, instead of doing hotsquats until long past a dinner he wouldn’t get to eat.

It was nice too, unbearably so, that Lu Ten didn’t seem to let him be alone too long either.

Well, it was nice most of the time.

“What?” Zuko said grumpily after being interrupted for the third time by a drawn-out sigh. Lu Ten looked pleased at getting Zuko’s attention, looking up at Zuko from where he was lazily sprawled out along the porch, his face just under Zuko’s elbow.

“What’re you reading?” Lu Ten said.

“Love amongst the Dragons,” Zuko said, tamping down the instinctual guilt at Lu Ten’s raised eyebrow. The one in his head that said _you’re wasting your time_ in his father’s cold voice, dripping with disappointment.

“Didn’t we see that play once?” Lu Ten mused, squinting like he was trying to remember, “Was it here at the palace?”

“No,” Zuko said, not bothering to hide his disgruntlement. At Lu Ten’s delighted look, Zuko sighed. “We saw it at Ember Island.”

“Right,” Lu Ten said, snapping his fingers, “Don’t they do it every year?”

“They butcher it every year,” Zuko muttered, annoyed. Lu Ten laughed, reaching out to pat Zuko on the knee.

“You poor thing,” Lu Ten said commiserating, but it was hard to taking him seriously when he was grinning like that, “So what, you’re prepping to go back and give them notes?”

“No,” Zuko mumbled, and had to swallow and blink hard for a second.

“Zuko?” Lu Ten said gently, “Everything alright there buddy?”

Zuko took a breath and considered not saying anything. But Lu Ten would understand, and it might hurt less to say it out loud.

“Just, reminds me of mom, is all.” Zuko said softly. And. He missed her. He missed her so much.

Lu Ten was quiet for a moment. Zuko didn’t dare look at him.

He didn’t know if he was allowed to miss her was a thing, since she was maybe technically a traitor even though no one could prove anything. But she was still his mom, and sometimes he wished she’d taken him with her, especially with things the way they were.

 _I ruined it,_ Zuko thought, feeling a little sick as the silence stretched on, _I always ruin it._

“Dad said she brought sunshine to the palace,” Lu Ten said, startling Zuko out of his thoughts, “You know, she wrote to us a couple of times when we were at Ba Sing Se. I still have the one she sent for my birthday, the one you misspelled my name on.”

Zuko’s laugh was a little watery with relief, “I didn’t misspell it.” He protested, sniffing a little. “The ink smudged the strokes together, but mom said you’d like it.”

“I did,” Lu Ten said, smiling up at him, “It made me laugh. Dad called me Jī Ten for a week.”

“I don’t think I messed the strokes up that bad.” Zuko said, trying to scowl but smiling helplessly instead.

Lu Ten laughed, “That’s what I said! But he seemed pretty pleased with himself. Man, did we ever look forward to her letters. I kept meaning to write her back.”

Oh. Right.

Zuko’s smile faded. The last letter mom got from the frontlines was the one that said Lu Ten had died. That was the first time Zuko ever saw mom cry like that.

“Oh,” Lu Ten said stricken when Zuko told him, “I didn’t know. Spirits, Zuko, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Zuko said, because Lu Ten was alive after all. Real and solid and here instead of in the ground somewhere else, far away from everyone who loved him.

“Hey,” Lu Ten said, propping himself up on his elbows, “What else did you and aunt Ursa like to do?”

And so here they were, Zuko fidgeting under Cook’s considering gaze as Lu Ten explained what they wanted.

“Pardon me for saying, my lord,” Cook said wryly, and it always surprised Zuko how easy the palace staff were with Lu Ten, “But I recall the last time you wanted to do the same. I believe you were banned from the kitchens.”

“I was but a boy then,” Lu Ten said, grinning widely, “Things change, Cook. I’m Crown Prince now; I’ve become a man of the world.”

“You can use one of the smaller kitchens,” Cook said at last, looking sick of Lu Ten’s wheedling, “Prince Zuko knows where it is.”

Zuko stared, surprised at being addressed. He and mom used to sneak into the kitchens to cook all the time, but he didn’t think anybody paid attention, much less Cook who ruled the kitchens with an iron fist.

“Thanks Cook. No need to prepare anything for us tonight,” Lu Ten told Cook brightly, unintimidated, “And don’t tell my dad either, we’re going to surprise him.”

“Right, sir,” Cook said, and would have looked utterly unaffected but for his tucked-in smile. To Zuko’s surprise, Cook turned his attention to Zuko.

“Your highness,” Cook said, like Zuko was a grown-up, “I assume you’re in charge then?”

“Hey!” Lu Ten said cheerfully. Cook ignored him.

Zuko nodded slowly, and Cook gifted him with a short bow.

“Good,” Cook said, “Take care of my kitchen. Don’t let him poison the Fire Lord.”

“Yes sir.” Zuko said solemnly.

The paste would go in first, and then the potatoes. Mushrooms, lemongrass, peanut sauce, and then some of that partially cooked meat, red and still tender, marinated in some dark sauces. The noodles would go in last, quicker to soften than the rest of everything. The smell of garlic and onion lingered on his hands. His mouth watered.

But before that, the water. Lu Ten started the fire, cut up half an onion badly, and then wandered off, presumably distracted by something shiny. Zuko climbed up onto the little step-stool by the pot and peered inside, breathing in the clean scent of steam.

The water crested slowly. It rumbled like a little storm.

 _That’s what I am,_ Zuko thought dully, watching it. _A roiling boil._

Mom’s guiding hands had been soft around his. The only soft thing in the world as she wrapped his hands around pestle to grind herbs into mortar. Sunk it into granite and pushed fragrance out of stone.

It was a comfort to him that crushed things had purpose, still.

Lu Ten eventually wandered back. He telegraphed all his moves around Zuko now, never coming in from the left if he could help it. Zuko wondered if he should tell his cousin not to bother. A childhood spent with Azula had beaten the luxury of being startled out of him.

“Everything alright there, buddy?” Lu Ten asked casually, leaning into Zuko’s space to peer down at the clear water.

Zuko nodded. He tore his eyes away from the pot and glanced at his cousin. Even on the stool, he was only up to about Lu Ten’s chin. Lu Ten’s smile was tucked in, like he was quietly amused. Nothing about it said he was doing it at Zuko’s expense, but Zuko narrowed his eyes at him anyway.

“What’s so funny?” Zuko demanded.

“Nothing, nothing,” Lu Ten said, holding his hands in a loose shield, “Dad always said you could find the meaning of the universe in hot water. Guess he was on to something.”

Lu Ten did little of the cooking in the war and it showed. He seemed happy enough to be bossed around, handing Zuko ingredients and keeping a running commentary on the process, endlessly pleased every time he got a reluctant laugh.

“Should I make rice?” Lu Ten said as he watched Zuko slide garlic into the hot wok, the pot of soup bubbling quietly at Zuko’s elbow.

“Do you know how?” Zuko said skeptically.

“I can make _rice._ ” Lu Ten said loudly like he was offended, but Zuko knew he wasn’t, really. Still, he tensed a little at the tone. Not quite a flinch, but still damning.

But Lu Ten was kind, kinder than Zuko deserved. His cousin turned like he hadn’t noticed, reaching to grab the other ingredients from the table. Zuko took a deep breath and made himself relax in increments.

Most days, Zuko’s body remembered that it was safe to do things like roll his eyes at his cousin, prod at a sore spot, raise his eyebrow and smirk at him. It had taken some time to train his body out of the _what if he hits me_ to _so what if he does?_

“So, rice?” Lu Ten said easily, as if nothing had ever happened. 

“We don’t need rice, we’re having noodles.” Zuko said. The garlic crackled pleasantly. A second longer and it would burn.

Zuko tossed the onions in, and then the meat, carefully. It was difficult, still, to judge distances. He spared a thought for the ingredients he’d inadvertently wasted, when he had thrown them in and missed the wok. Lu Ten had assured him it would get swept up and fed to the strays and that made Zuko feel a little better about it.

“You’re really good at this,” Lu Ten said, as Zuko sampled the broth.

“You can’t have any more meat,” Zuko said right away. He’d seen his cousin angling for another bite, and if he didn’t control Lu Ten, they’d be having a vegetarian dinner.

Lu Ten laughed, “I know, I know,” He said, eyes twinkling with mirth, “I’m serious, Zuko. When did you get so grown up?”

Zuko shrugged, stung, even though Lu Ten meant it as a compliment. What’s the point of being grown up if he wasn’t grown up enough where it counted? Not enough to protect his mom, or Azula, or himself. Enough to run his mouth against his father, but not enough to avoid getting burned.

Lu Ten was watching him closely, and Zuko, determined for once to be brave, took a deep breath and said, “When’s the point of being grown up when you stop being so scared all the time?”

The soup simmered between them. The bowl of hand-pulled noodles sat patiently by its side, ready to be cooked. Lu Ten’s face looked like it was choosing between warring expressions and had gotten stuck in the process.

“I—” Lu Ten started, then cast his eyes to the ceiling, “Ah, spirits, I’m gonna mess this up.”

“What?” Zuko said, a little lost.

Lu Ten pressed his lips together, and nodded like he’d made a decision.

“I don’t know if you ever do,” Lu Ten said, then grimaced, “Okay, wait, no. I mean. Fear is. The thing about fear as a concept. Spirits, dad is so much better at this than me.”

Zuko didn’t really know how to react, so he turned his attention back to the meal and started carefully dropping the noodles into the pot.

They watched it in silence for a while. Zuko snuck a peek at his cousin’s face and if Azula was there, she’d say maybe Lu Ten had to take a poop but couldn’t. She was funny like that sometimes, accidentally, and when it made him laugh, she’d be nice to him for ages.

“I was scared a lot, during the war.” Lu Ten said, hushed. Zuko nodded slowly, so that his cousin knew he was listening, but didn’t turn his head. It felt right, somehow, not to look.

“What they don’t tell you, is that most times it’s just long stretches of nothing,” Lu Ten continued distantly, “But then there’s just…noise. All the time. And in the history scrolls they tell you about glory and honour and duty but then you’re there and everything happens so fast, and sometimes you’re too busy to be afraid but only sometimes.”

Zuko reached out blindly and found Lu Ten’s hand. Lu Ten made a choked sound, kinda like a laugh but not really, and grasped back.

“I’m sorry,” Lu Ten said, and cleared his throat a little, “That didn’t answer your question at all. I think I made it worse. Did I make it worse?”

Zuko thought about it. It was weird to think of his cousin being scared like he was scared, because Lu Ten was pretty old. But if Lu Ten could be scared and old and still awesome and brave when it counted, then Zuko had ten whole years to catch up. That was plenty of time.

“I think you made it better.” Zuko said, because it was kinda true, and maybe that was what Lu Ten needed to hear.

Lu Ten chuckled a little, like he knew what Zuko was doing. He squeezed Zuko’s hand once, comfortingly, before letting go.

His father looked pleasantly surprised at their visit, and then intrigued at the steaming bowls the servants were helping bring into the office. It was quick work to strip the small meeting table and get it laid out. 

“We thought it’d be nice to have a quiet dinner today,” Lu Ten explained as his father left his documents to join them at the table, “Just us.”

His baby cousin looked adorably anxious, eyes wide as Iroh hummed appreciatively at the smell. They waited for his father to sit before they did, a servant approaching gracefully at his elbow to pour the tea.

They watched as his father took his first bite. Iroh’s eyes lit up in surprise.

“What a familiar flavour,” His father said quietly, casting a soft look over at Zuko, “I have not had Hira’a’s famous peanut noodles in years.”

“Dad, there’s something you should know,” Lu Ten said. Zuko looked a little flustered, eyes skittering to Lu Ten, the food, father.

“You made this?” Iroh repeated, a little skeptically, “You’re not allowed in the kitchens.”

“Okay, when I said we made this, I mean Zuko made this and I supervised,” Lu Ten said. When his dad’s look didn’t change Lu Ten amended, “And when I said I supervised, I mainly just got out of his way.”

His father laughed warmly, gesturing for a servant to refill his tea, “Well, I must say, this is the best meal I’ve enjoyed in a long time.”

Zuko looked a little bowled over by the compliment. Lu Ten nudged Zuko under the table, and Zuko stuttered out a thank-you. 

“…and he said, _Leaf me alone, I’m bushed._ ” Lu Ten said, grinning at his own joke.

Zuko just blinked at him, head tilted like he was waiting for more.

“It’s funnier when dad says it.” Lu Ten sighed at last, patting Zuko’s knee. Zuko just gave him a look like _probably not._ It really shouldn’t have been so adorable, what with the other half of his face set in its perpetual scowl. Nor should have been the sarcastic _‘Yeah, probably because he remembers how it’s actually supposed to go’_ that followed.

Lu Ten pretended to scowl, “You don’t appreciate me. Now I’m too depressed to tell you a bedtime story.”

“Alright,” Zuko said easily.

A pause.

“Okay, fine, since you’re practically _begging_ for one.”

“Oh my _gods_.”

“It’s because you’re a whipped ass bitch,” Terashi said into her fifth cup of the night, “And a sucker for a cute face.”

“Well, good thing you don’t have one,” Lu Ten said, then, “Ow! I’m your Crown Prince, you know.”

“Whipped ass bitch,” Terashi repeated, ignoring Lu Ten’s puppy eyes as he dramatically shielded his arm from further abuse. Shooting a pleading look at Karin to defend him did nothing, all she did was smile down at her cup and shake her head.

He pouted and rubbed his arm some more. If they had found a way to weaponize Terashi’s elbows, they would have taken Ba Sing Se in no time.

“Which I held, you know, for six hundred days.”

“I know, sir, I was there.”

Lu Ten pretended to scowl at her, but his lips twitched a little at the knowing look she shot him over her cup.

“What are we talking about?” Rou said, returning with another pitcher of drinks, followed closely by Tien Ho who came bearing snacks.

“Our venerable Crown Prince got kicked out of Prince Zuko’s room for being too annoying.” Terashi snorted.

“So business as usual.” Rou said.

“Treason.” Lu Ten said, pointing at both of them as he made room on the bench so Tien Ho could slide in next to him.

“Just speaking our truth,” Terashi said innocently.

“You called me a whipped ass bitch.”

“And what about it?”

“All of you are a menace.” Karin sighed, extending her cup for a refill which Rou cheerfully obliged.

“I literally just got here,” Tien Ho pointed out, ducking the peanut Rou threw at him with practiced ease, “Hey, asshole, don’t waste food.”

Lu Ten took a moment to bask in the company of his friends. He could admit, before the siege he’d been pretty lonely, holed up in the palace without the company of siblings or kids his own age. His dad had doted on him, but Iroh had been away more often than not, off to one adventure or another.

He shook himself out of his weird melancholy and drifted back to the conversation. Something about nobleman Hui Jin’s many mistresses.

“So the mistresses are related,” Rou repeated, trying to keep Terashi’s story straight, “To each other?”

“Hui Jin’s stone cold,” Terashi said, shrugging with one shoulder, “I don’t know if he’s stupid or economical, but somehow he’s kept them from finding out about each other.” She drained her cup and scowled when she caught Lu Ten’s expression.

“Don’t get any ideas.” She pointed at him, “Your father will never let me hear the end of it.”

“You wouldn’t have to tell him.” Lu Ten said.

“Someone’s got to keep an eye on his dumbass son.” But Terashi smiled to take away the sting, and let Lu Ten knock shoulders with her gently.

The night unspooled like that, slow and syrup-warm. They spoke and laughed about inconsequential things, jostling each other like children. Karin was the first to leave, and when Tien Ho offered to walk her home Rou was not far behind.

Lu Ten thought about returning too, but Terashi offered to pick up the last round, and he found himself wanting to linger a little longer. They drank in comfortable silence, and Lu Ten let his mind drift to the palace, wondering if his father had remembered to eat. If his sleeping baby cousin was having good dreams. He felt melancholy settle in his heart again.

“It’s hard to drink over your thinking.” Terashi said pointedly. Lu Ten ducked his head, a little abashed at being caught out.

“Well sorry,” Lu Ten said, “Some of us aren’t good at it like you.”

Terashi rolled her eyes, “You wanna talk about it?”

“You want to hear about it?” Lu Ten asked, surprised.

“I offered, didn’t I?” Terashi huffed, “C’mon, lay it on me. One-time limited offer.”

Lu Ten sighed, looking at the grain of the table beneath his fingertips instead of directly at his friend. He thought of how easy it would be to push heat into the wood, the way it would splinter under his palms.

The weight of her eyes on him was patient. He said:

Peace time was continuously sweet; he felt fat on it. Wasn’t this what he wanted? And yet the days stretched bland, unending, glue-sticky before him. The nightmares continued. His bed, too, seemed too large. Impossibly soft after years of cots and pallets. The war had been hard, but there had been purpose there, even if so much of it was a lie. He had not been allowed to die, but he barely remembered how to live.

Terashi listened quietly. She good at it. Underneath the table, their knees knocked, and it was nothing at all to press into the touch for comfort. She let him, even though she was no soft thing. This, too, she was good at and maybe only for him.

“I’m being ungrateful,” Lu Ten sighed, thumbing absently at the condensation gathered on the rim of his cup, “I think I just need to snap out of this funk.”

“Maybe.” Terashi hummed, leaning on her elbows across the table, “Or maybe you’re a soldier who just got home. Doesn’t matter if you’re a prince or a commoner, war fucks you up when it’s done with you.”

Lu Ten smiled despite himself. “Speaking from experience?”

Terashi leaned back, shrugged a little depreciatingly, “I wouldn’t know. I don’t think the war’s ever gonna be done with me.”

It was true. Lu Ten had his duties in the palace. Karin had her archery students. Tien Ho was a tailor, and Rou was a nobleman’s son. Terashi, Lu Ten knew, still worked for his father. There was a reason she knew things like Hui Jin’s mistresses being related so that knowledge like that could help the Fire Lord one day.

“I’m sorry,” Lu Ten said, and wished he could fold her hand under his own, “Is there something…I mean, would you want to do anything else?”

“Not really,” Terashi said, some of her spark returning into her eyes, “It’s what I’m good at. It’s what I believe in.”

Jealousy sparked in his breast, and then shame. He wanted to be needed again, to be looked to for instruction. But too many people had fought and died to feed that same yearning in his grandfather and his father before him. And so, his diplomatic career as Crown Prince would be long and quiet and illustrious.

And dull. For the rest of his life. And then, _spirits,_ he would have to be Fire Lord one day. Lu Ten let his forehead thunk softly onto the table.

He heard Terashi mutter something like _drama queen_ before he heard her rise and come around to his side.

“Let’s get you home, alright?” Terashi said, prodding him on the shoulder.

“Bossy.” Lu Ten sniffed, but let himself be manhandled into standing. Terashi pickpocketed him remorselessly, paid their bill with his coin, and shoved him into the cool night air.

Halfway to the palace, Terashi slipped an arm around his waist and leaned into him like a girl on a date. Lu Ten did not falter, he’d felt it too. He slung a companionable arm around Terashi’s shoulders and leaned into her heavily, stumbling like he was drunker than he was.

“How many?” He said under his breath.

Terashi squeezed his waist five times. Not great odds but not terrible either. He was more concerned about his guard detail who should have taken care of the threat by now. Unless.

“We should split up.” Lu Ten said, tucking his chin into his chest to speak into her hairline.

“The fuck we should split up,” Terashi muttered, “They’re trying to get you alone. Maybe they’ll leave once we get into the palace.”

His dad was in the palace. Zuko too. He banked his rage until it sat cold and solid in his gut, ready for him to use.

“I want answers.” Lu Ten said lowly.

“I can do that.” Terashi murmured, “You trust me?”

“Always.” Lu Ten said.

“Alright,” Terashi breathed, and then she swung around at the mouth of an alleyway, eyes shining, and Lu Ten almost gave it away when she honest to spirits, _giggled out loud_ before cool fingers latched onto his collar and pulled him down.

Of the kisses Lu Ten had enjoyed in his life, this one definitely ranked on the top of his list. His mouth parted in shock, and she slipped her tongue in, quick and a little dirty before she pulled back.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Terashi chanted, pulling him into the alley, deeper and deeper into the shadows, turning him around to paw teasingly at his clothes. The alley led to a dead-end. Whoever was following them would be a fool not to take the opportunity.

Dad was the one who taught him how to fish on one of those halcyon trips to Ember Island. Lu Ten had been so young then, but he’d always remember that gilded dock; and too, the line, the hook, the wiggling bait. Lu Ten watched with wide eyes as his father pierced the worm. The more it squirmed, dad explained, the more attractive to the predator.

 _We’re squirming_ , Lu Ten thought, letting himself be kissed and bullied and pushed, _What are you waiting for? Have a bite._

Footsteps.

One, two, three. The moon was hidden behind a cloud, but Lu Ten was used to the darkness of an unlit campground with only stars to keep company. He could see the figures creep in closer to them from his peripheral.

“Get down,” Terashi said sharply, and Lu Ten’s body moved to obey. He dropped silently into a plank, and watched as Terashi’s knives sunk true. He didn’t wait to see the result, pushing himself into a crouched run out into the open air.

He was too late, the other two on their tail were gone. There was a shout from the alley, and he cursed before turning back.

He called a flame into his palm, and saw two of their three attackers on the ground, unmoving, bleeding from the throat. The third was flattened against the wall, Terashi’s blades pinning him to the brick by the fabric of his clothes.

Terashi had him by the jaw, fingers jammed into his mouth. She jabbed once, ruthlessly, and the man gagged against her knuckles until she withdrew her hand, a capsule caught between the crook of her fingers.

“Too bad.” She said coldly. The man’s eyes shone with defiance as Lu Ten approached. He recognized him as a member of his personal guard, which at the very least, confirmed some of his initial suspicions.

“Who sent you?” Lu Ten growled, letting his flame peak threateningly in his hand.

The man bared his teeth and snarled, “You should have died in Ba Sing Se.”

Terashi’s answering punch knocked the man’s head against the brick with a sharp crack.

“Try again.” Terashi hissed.

The man lolled his head to the side, tongue working in his mouth until he turned to spit out a tooth, “You won’t get anything out of me,” He said finally, grinning around the blood dripping out of his mouth, “Some of us have honour left in this nation.”

Lu Ten caught Terashi’s fist before she could strike the man again.

“Enough,” Lu Ten said quietly, “We’re better than this.”

A strange look flashed across Terashi’s eyes, but then she nodded once and it was gone.

His father was not at his office or in his chambers. Lu Ten made his way across the palace, and thanked the spirits dad had taken to camp in Zuko’s room more often than not. So much so that there was a couch made up for him in the corner of the room that everyone pretended wasn’t actually another cot.

Terashi trailed after him silently. She hadn’t suggested she leave after they dropped the man off in the dungeons, and Lu Ten didn’t push it.

There were guards posted outside Zuko’s room when Lu Ten arrived. Lu Ten tamped down the urge to dismiss them, a spark of fear coursing through him. If his own guards had turned against him, then who could be trusted in the palace?

“I’ll stay here,” Terashi said, as if she’d read his mind. He gave her a grateful nod and gestured for the guards to let him inside.

His father looked up as Lu Ten slipped into the room, eyebrows lifting in surprise. Lu Ten visited Zuko plenty in the day, but avoided going into his room at night, too afraid of accidentally falling asleep by Zuko’s bedside and scaring both of them awake with a screaming nightmare.

Iroh rose, looking at Lu Ten and then to the door questioningly. Lu Ten shook his head. After the events of the evening he was loath to leave Zuko alone in the room.

They withdrew to a nook in the room, close enough to keep an eye on Zuko without waking him up. His father listened quietly as Lu Ten outlined the events of the night, and didn’t seem surprised when Lu Ten revealed the attack had come from within his guard.

Lu Ten didn’t know why that bothered him. He set it aside for the moment as his father mulled over his response.

“I will stay here tonight.” Iroh said quietly, his eyes flicking to Zuko’s small form and then back to Lu Ten in a silent question.

Lu Ten had thought he would be too wired from the events of the night. Instead he felt drained. If he stayed, he would sleep. If he slept, his nightmares would return, and that wouldn’t be fun for anyone.

“Terashi is outside,” Lu Ten said at the silent question, “We can trade sleep shifts in my room.”

“Oh?” His father said, a beat too late. Lu Ten narrowed his eyes. His father was a terrible liar.

“Did you send her to babysit me?” Lu Ten hissed, “Dad, what the fuck?”

“Language.” Iroh said sternly, but didn’t deny it. Lu Ten scowled in reply.

“Did you know something like this would happen?” Lu Ten said lowly.

“I suspected,” His father said evenly.

Lu Ten released a slow breath. Wrong-footed, betrayed. Zuko stirred a little, derailing his next sentence.

“ ‘u Ten?” Zuko mumbled from the bed, “What’s going on?”

“This isn’t over,” Lu Ten said under his breath at his father before moving to Zuko’s bedside. And alright, he really was a whipped ass bitch, because one look at his tiny cousin sitting up and struggling to blink awake was enough to sluice the fear and tension of the night off his shoulders.

Lu Ten took his father’s seat and laid a gentle hand over Zuko’s brow, carding his fingers soothingly through his baby cousin’s shaggy fringe.

“Just here to see dad for a bit,” Lu Ten murmured, “Go back to sleep okay?”

Zuko looked at him blearily before nodding, sinking back down into his pillows at Lu Ten’s gentle urging. Lu Ten stamped a kiss into Zuko’s hair and waited for his cousin’s breaths to even out before he rose again.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” His father said, holding up a hand to stall any further discussion.

“Fine.” Lu Ten said shortly.

Terashi didn’t flinch when he came out glaring, following him silently to his chambers. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry. Because it made sense, didn’t it? Why she was always with him these days. That extra layer of protection he’d mistaken as companionship. Terashi was still in his father’s pocket, and had been long before she had been his friend.

When they came to his room, he turned to her finally, but when he reached for the anger to confront her, he just felt tired instead.

“I’m going to bed,” Lu Ten muttered, “I don’t care if you stay or leave, but I don’t want to see you in the morning.”

“Understood, sir.” Terashi said quietly.

Lu Ten closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://augustmonsoon.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Lu Ten's name is written: 路騰. Zuko's spelling error was me mangling Lu Ten's name character in Google translate and getting the closest nonsense pinyin result. I believe that the Fire Nation is based on Japan, but fortunately Japan and China share a lot of the same character strokes. This is such a tiny thing, but I love to practice my own extremely limited knowledge about my language whenever I can.
> 
> All reviews and kudos are appreciated and loved.


	2. Everyone Needs a Hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Instead, Zuko crawled up onto his bed and pulled the sheets up over his head. He imagined his limbs growing heavy. Heavy like the rocks that lined his mother’s pond. Maybe if he lay there long enough, he’d grow roots, pierce through the bed, grow all the way down to the caldera and whatever lay past that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's alive!! Thank you for being so patient in the one month hiatus. It's been a crazy time of moving, settling, renovating, and working. I will do my utmost to post more regularly, but in the meantime please enjoy 15 more pages of soft angsty family vibes.

Tien Ho had no idea what to do with kids.

Prince Zuko tilted his head up at him like he was waiting for something to happen.

 _Me too, kid,_ Tien Ho thought, and wondered if he should smile or something.

He knew he’d been a kid once himself, but he didn’t remember being that little. The combination of having a sickly father and a household of girls had made him man of the house too early for him to have much of a childhood.

Rou said that kids were just small adults, but Rou also thought that making the fire twice as hot would cook the food faster.

He thought a little longingly for the simplicity of his shop. The half-finished wedding robe that he had been commissioned to do. Instead he was here, in armor he thought he’d never have to touch again, in a garden that had at one point been built and owned by a literal Fire Lady.

“Do you…want to take a nap?” Tien Ho said finally, resisting the urge to fidget in his armor. The prince gave him an unimpressed look.

“I’m twelve,” Zuko snapped, like that was supposed to mean something to Tien Ho, “Naps are for babies.”

Ah. Tien Ho did not point out the fact that Zuko was pretty much a baby as far as he knew.

“So what do you want to do?” Tien Ho asked, and wished he was back in the shop inventorying the new shipment of Earth Nation silks instead of being on Lu Ten’s glorified babysitter rotation. “You got a schedule?"

“Not really,” Zuko said, mouth turned down into a little scowl, “Uncle’s still gotta find me new tutors, and I’m not allowed to train yet either.”

“What was wrong with your old tutors?” Tien Ho said.

Zuko shrugged.

This was going to be a long day.

If Zuko accidentally stabbed himself with his needle one more time, he was going to scream. He snuck a glance at Tien Ho’s fingers as they looped invisible stitches into the cloth. Maybe he could ask to be shown again? But he didn’t want to be yelled at by his cousin’s friend.

Okay. But. Technically, _technically,_ Tien Ho was a guard and not a teacher, and he was pretty sure guards weren’t allowed to hit him. A breeze picked up a little, ruffling Zuko’s hair, the hem of his robes. The sun sliced through the garden in long bars of light.

Zuko slanted a look over at Tien Ho’s hands again, how long and delicate his fingers were.

 _Women’s work,_ his father hissed in the gnarled mess of his left ear.

“Um,” Zuko said too loudly, to drown out that voice, because he didn’t want father in the garden–

_because the garden was his and mom’s and father could sour anything but not this_

–and flinched a little when Tien Ho lifted his head. Tien Ho looked at the mess of stiches in Zuko’s hand, and then at Zuko’s face.

“Hm,” Tien Ho said, and then held out a hand, gesturing for Zuko to hand over the material. Zuko braced himself for a scolding that never came. Instead, Tien Ho turned the cloth over, considering.

“Not bad,” Tien Ho said finally. At Zuko’s disbelieving look, he amended, “It’s not _good_ but I’ve seen worse.”

“Thanks?” Zuko said, and was rewarded with a wry smile, “I keep messing up.”

“These things take time,” Tien Ho said with a small shrug, starting to unpick the stitches, “You should have seen some of my first tries. I got so frustrated I set fire to the practice doll.”

It was said lightly, probably meant to be a kindness, but the thought of a burning doll made Zuko think of Azula; fire in her hand, creeping up to swallow the one Uncle sent her. She had smiled then too, and the look she gave him after had made him clutch the knife gifted to him a little harder.

“Something wrong?” Tien Ho said, peering at him carefully.

Zuko released a breath he hadn’t know he was holding and shook his head.

“We don’t have to keep doing this if you don’t want to.” Tien Ho said gently.

Zuko shrugged mutely, trying not to be hurt. Of course Tien Ho wouldn’t want to teach him anymore. Not even Zuko’s actual tutors wanted to teach him either.

Tien Ho sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

Zuko looked up, confused at the apology. The quirk of Tien Ho’s lips was more grimace than a smile, but he didn’t look angry.

“I’m not the best teacher,” Tien Ho said, like he was confessing something, “Or like, good with kids. I’m probably screwing this up.”

“You’re not,” Zuko said immediately, because he was the screw-up here not his cousin’s friend who had been kind enough to spend time with him instead of just silently watching him like the rest of the guards, “I’m just bad at learning things.”

“What?” Tien Ho said, looking genuinely lost, “You’re not. Why would you think that?”

Zuko frowned. It was pretty obvious, wasn’t it? He was so late to firebending even mom had kind of given up in the end there, even though she never said it out loud. And Azula had been in all his classes until she advanced faster than him, and she was two whole years younger too.

“Hey, look at me,” Tien Ho said. When Zuko did, Tien Ho retrieved both their cloths and turned them over to lay them side by side.

“See this?” Tien Ho said, pointing to his cloth and then Zuko’s. Zuko nodded slowly. Tien Ho hadn’t unpicked Zuko’s stitches all the way, and Zuko’s mistakes were pretty glaring next to Tien Ho’s perfect stitches. “Can you tell me what the differences are?”

Tien Ho’s expression was even as always, but nothing like the cold almost excited glint of his tutors when Zuko messed up. Zuko looked between Tien Ho’s cloth and his own, noting the even crosses, the straight lines.

“I pulled my stitches too wide here and here,” Zuko said finally, pointing to the parts in question, “And I think I was supposed to poke the needle here instead of through there.”

“You got it,” Tien Ho said, and the smile on his face was awkward but real, “Anyone tell you that it’s okay to make mistakes, as long as you learn from them after?”

Zuko shook his head.

“That explains so much,” Tien Ho muttered, looking a little mad but not like he was mad at Zuko, “Look, let’s try again, and I promise this time will be better.”

That was how Lu Ten found them later, squinting over stitches in the golden late afternoon sun. Zuko was a master at unpicking stitches on his own at this point, and there was something calming about the repetition.

“I think I have some socks that need darning,” Lu Ten said, and his amusement felt like cool sweet water on a hot day even as Tien Ho rolled his eyes.

“You’re welcome to learn,” Tien Ho shot back easily, “Prince Zuko can teach you.”

“But that would take away the enjoyment of the process,” Lu Ten pouted.

“I’m sure.” Tien Ho said dryly, and then to Zuko’s surprise, turned to Zuko and raised his eyebrows at him with a small smile, like he and Zuko were part of a secret joke. With a jolt of pleasure, Zuko realized that they were, even if it was a little at Lu Ten’s expense. But unlike with Azula, there was no malice there.

“Had fun today?” Lu Ten asked, and Zuko turned back to his cousin to see Lu Ten watching them a little curiously.

“Yeah,” Zuko said, and snuck a glance at Tien Ho, “I’m getting better. I think.”

“He is.” Tien Ho said to Lu Ten, then turned back to Zuko, “You are.” Tien Ho said, seriously, “If you’d like, I can bring actual stuff for mending next time, so we can practice practical sewing."

“Yes, please.” Zuko said, a little too quickly.

“I’m glad you’re getting free labour out of this.” Lu Ten said wryly.

“When you’ve got that down, we can move on to surgical stitching,” Tien Ho said, ignoring Lu Ten, “Then we can practice on your cousin, sound good?”

“Actually?” Zuko said, shocked both at the implication, and then at how eagerly he wanted to learn.

“Yeah, you’ve got a lot of the basics down,” Tien Ho said, and Zuko thought maybe he sounded a little proud, “As long as you keep practicing, you’ll be there in no time.”

Zuko glowed inwardly at the approval and nodded. He’d never been praised for being good at the basics of anything before.

“I regret introducing you two,” Lu Ten said, seeming weirdly pleased about it, “Alright, fine, but if you stitch me back wrong, you’re never hearing the end of it.”

“So what else is new?” Tien Ho said.

“I’m surprised you’re not yelling at him about bringing his hand-me-downs,” Lu Ten said with a small grin, watching Rou teach Zuko how to fire-hacky.

“I’m not his fishwife.” Tien Ho grumbled. Rou turned to see that they were being watched, and proceeded to show off like a loon. Tien Ho ignored him pointedly, even as Zuko watched with wide eyes as Rou expertly tossed the little beanbag from his foot to his shoulder to his head with both hands behind his back.

Rou was finally free to join the rotation, and he had come bearing gifts. Zuko hadn’t known what half the toys Rou brought even were, but seemed happy enough to be let out of stitching lessons to have a little fun. And no, Tien Ho was not bitter about it at all, but Rou could go fuck himself anyway.

It didn’t seem like much of a rotation when all four of them were there, including Terashi who was somewhere out of sight and very much stuck on Lu Ten duty. Karin had left the Caldera a couple of weeks ago with her students, so at least she was spared all of this.

And fine, technically, Tien Ho could leave if he wanted, but it was a nice day, and the palace gardens were lovely this time of year.

“Speaking of fishwives,” Lu Ten said, and dropped his voice, “Anything new to report?”

“That has fucking nothing to do with fishwives,” Tien Ho said in his regular voice, because they were all adults, and he was too old to play middle man in whatever argument Lu Ten and Terashi were in, “And if you want to know, you can ask her yourself.”

“What if it was a direct order?” Lu Ten said lightly, but Tien Ho wasn’t fooled by the tone.

“Is it a direct order?” Tien Ho shot back. Then, “Hold on, is _Terashi_ your fishwife?”

“I did not think the metaphor through,” Lu Ten said, scowling, “And yes, consider reporting to me, _your superior officer,_ a direct order. Also another direct order, stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything, sir.” Tien Ho said, even though he definitely was, “But fine, we’re seeing some movements as we suspected. Investigating a couple of new developments.”

“New developments?”

Tien Ho looked around. The garden seemed private enough, a few guards stationed where they could see them, and a couple more out of sight, including Terashi. Still, these were tumultuous times. The last time Tien Ho had let his guard down when he thought he was in friendly territory, he’d gotten a burnt arm and a nasty scar. Tien Ho glanced at Lu Ten and tilted his head in silent question.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Lu Ten said, clapping Tien Ho on the shoulder, “C’mon, we can talk inside.”

“We’re going in for a moment,” Tien Ho called out to where Rou was teaching Zuko how to balance the fire-hacky bag on his ankle, “Don’t let him get in trouble.”

“I won’t,” Rou said brightly.

“I was talking to Prince Zuko.” Tien Ho said, and watched Zuko’s little face light up at the acknowledgement.

Winding halls led them deep into the palace. Lu Ten had a smile for everyone in their path, winking at the younger serving girls when they accidentally caught his eye. It seemed like he knew the name of every passing guard and they stopped more than once so Lu Ten could ask after their mothers, partners, children.

Tien Ho was content to watch quietly. He’d tried to stand two steps behind the prince as was appropriate, but Lu Ten had taken to slinging an arm around his shoulders as they walked, or pulling him into conversation by name.

It was not unexpected, having known Lu Ten for so long, but what felt comfortable in the war was wildly bizarre in the unspoken formality of the palace. Tien Ho was a tailor’s son. Born to a name worth very little, heir to modest means. Destined, he’d thought, to be another cog in an endless machine.

“What’s that look for?” Lu Ten said after another rambling conversation with a passing guard whose little vegetable farm was doing well, and also had another little one on the way, possibly a son.

“Just wondering if we’ll get to where we’re going in this century, sir.” Tien Ho said.

“We’d go faster if you’d quit lagging behind.” Lu Ten said, half a laugh in his voice.

Tien Ho sighed, “I’m not lagging sir. I’m technically not supposed to walk in step with you. It’s called propriety.”

“Oh,” Lu Ten said, looking genuinely surprised, “I forgot about that. It’s fine. I think it’s fine. I’m going to say it’s fine.”

“Well,” Tien Ho monotoned, suppressing a smile, “If you say it’s fine.”

The Fire Lord’s office was guarded by the biggest armored women Tien Ho had ever seen. Lu Ten grinned when he saw them, giving them a cheerful wave. Scratch propriety, Lu Ten probably didn’t even know the word existed.

“Dad’s office.” Lu Ten said over his shoulder as they entered, “He should be out all day. It’s the safest room in the palace and the most boring, probably.”

Boring was not the word. Intimidating maybe, with its wood and steel; engraved with centuries of history in its stone.

The office of the Fire Lord was meant to house diplomatic meetings, private war counsels, secrets that would change the flow of society in big and small ways. It was not a large room but it was wide, and well-lit despite the lack of windows and its soundproof walls. Fragrant, too, with jasmine, lingering despite the absence of a brew. 

Portraits of the old Fire Lords glared down at them from all sides. Azulon and Sozin. Zoryu. Yosor. The original paintings of the images Tien Ho had only seen from his schoolhouse scrolls.

“Dad didn’t like his, it’s getting redone,” Lu Ten said, following Tien Ho’s eyes up at the past rulers, “He said it didn’t get his good side.”

“Can’t believe that old dragon has a bad side,” Tien Ho said, “Maybe you should get yours done now before it’s too late.”

“Ha,” Lu Ten said, knocking Tien Ho’s shoulder gently with his own, “You say that as if we both don’t know I’m going to look this good forever.”

Lu Ten took the Fire Lord’s seat, and gestured Tien Ho to take the one opposite. Sprawled comfortably, even crownless, Lu Ten was the picture of a reigning god. Tien Ho had spent the better part of two years at Lu Ten’s side, but it was times like these that he remembered he was a friend but not an equal.

Lu Ten slanted him a look, “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking how weird my life turned out.”

“What would you have expected it to be?” 

“Quieter.” Tien Ho said. Lu Ten laughed.

“Maybe one day,” Lu Ten suggested, half his face scrunched up in amusement.

“Not with the way things are going,” Tien Ho said. No point putting it off much longer. “Our unit picked up your uncle’s trail, but it was too late to stop him.”

Lu Ten swore quietly, “You know where he’s gone?”

“We believe he has connections with Omashu and possibly the Dai Li.” Tien Ho said, “He could be anywhere, but we’re suspecting he most likely fled to Ba Sing Se.”

Lu Ten grimaced. The war was fresh still, despite the passing of time, and Tien Ho suspected it would always have its claws in them one way or another.

“And he would have been given safe passage?”

“Yes,” Tien Ho said, hands clasped together, “And most likely right into the city. We got the missive this morning that the unit Terashi sent lost them at the southern perimeter, whereafter it wasn’t safe or wise to continue."

“Understood,” Lu Ten said grimly, “Anything on my cousin?”

“She was spotted alive,” Tien Ho said, “There were two children with her. Two noble girls. Their families have also disappeared.”

“You mentioned new developments?”

“There’s talk of an underground rebellion brewing against your father’s reforms. They’re calling themselves _New Ozai_ ,” Tien Ho said, letting Lu Ten know through his expression how idiotic he found the whole premise, “It seems that not everyone is a fan of peace.”

“My uncle was on the throne for barely a month,” Lu Ten said incredulously, “I’m surprised he isn’t a laughingstock.”

“He was pretty popular with the capital up till we returned,” Tien Ho said, shrugging a little, “War is good for business, and your uncle was making a lot of promises.”

“Promises he could keep?” Lu Ten said skeptically, leaning on his elbows, fingers clasped loosely under his chin, “I very much doubt it.”

“Dad’s heard him talk before,” Tien Ho said, “It was maybe five years ago, when a handful of tailors were invited to the palace to win a commission to design the princess’s birthday robe. When it was dad’s turn to present, your uncle stood and did this long speech about how tradesmen added to the longevity and greatness of the nation. My dad’s pretty hard to impress, and he hates getting cut off, but he was talking about how great your uncle was for months. How he was the best thing to happen to the royal household.”

“So the moral of the story is my uncle’s good at public speaking?” Lu Ten said lightly.

Tien Ho huffed a slow breath, thinking. He could still feel the looming presence of the Fire Lords, the years and decades and centuries of history in these walls. Ozai was Fire Lord for a few short weeks. Agni willing, Iroh would be one for much longer. But Tien Ho was well versed in the history scrolls, had sat with rows of children like him and memorized the beats of the very foundation of the Nation.

Their people were fire and steel. Molten lava. Built from the very core of the earth. Before they fought the world, they fought among themselves. They’d been the dragon that gorged on its own tail until they united and turned all that havoc outwards. Peace was as foreign to them as the depths of the sea. As quiet. As frightening.

“I think he’s good at people,” Tien Ho said finally, “Even if he only cares about himself. I think he knows what people want, and how to make them think he can give it to them. We’re going to have to prepare for a possibility that he’s looking to come back sir.”

“Let him come,” Lu Ten said, and the fire lighting the room suddenly sharpened to a peak, throwing Lu Ten’s angular face into harsh relief, “I’ve got a score to settle with him.”

Zuko balanced the hacky sack on his elbow, tongue poking out of his mouth. He put his other hand palm up, flat against the bottom of his arm, and hit it lightly. The bag jumped up, and he ducked to catch it on his head.

“Yes!” Rou exclaimed, and held his hand up expectantly.

Zuko looked at it then at Rou’s face. Grabbed the bean bag. Deposited it into Rou’s open palm.

Rou laughed, dropping the bag into his other hand, before holding his hand up again, “It’s a fire-five, ever heard of it?”

Zuko shook his head.

Rou shrugged, “It’s super easy. We can even make our own.”

Up, down, grip the forearm, pull across, twist around, one-handed Phoenix form, half-flame, rest. It took them three tries to get it down, but it was worth it for the way Lu Ten pouted and pouted afterwards for not thinking to have one first.

Tien Ho’s applause was only a little sarcastic when they showed him, but his face went all soft when Rou’s back was turned. Zuko looked between the two of them and then up at Lu Ten who just grinned.

“Hey, you wanna teach me?” Lu Ten said.

“Wouldn’t be a secret fire-shake if we went around telling everyone.” Rou said.

“We’re going to have a better one,” Lu Ten told Zuko.

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” Rou shot back, “I’ve been making these up since you were in cloth diapers, sir.”

“You were probably in diapers at the same time,” Tien Ho said lazily, “You’re what, two years older? But you wore diapers till you were five.”

“That was said in confidence!” Rou said, dissolving into laughter, “Oh man, you’re killing me here. How am I going to impress the prince now?”

“Through your winning personality?” Tien Ho suggested.

“I’m doomed then.” Rou said cheerfully.

Zuko was plenty impressed, but too shy to say so. Lu Ten draped a heavy hand around his shoulders and Zuko let himself lean into it. They watched as Rou pulled Tien Ho towards the pond where he swore there was a turtle-duck that looked _exactly_ like Tien Ho.

“So are they friends or what?” Zuko asked as they watched Tien Ho do his best to push Rou into the water while Rou cackled with laughter.

“They’re always like that,” Lu Ten said, smiling a little wistfully, “They grew up together I think, Rou said they were childhood friends.”

Zuko tried to think of his childhood friends. Azula maybe, even though she was his sister and not always his friend. Then he’d have to count Mai and Ty Lee, but he hadn’t seen them since everything happened. He missed them, even if their games got kinda mean sometimes. Ty Lee would definitely have loved to have a secret fire-shake. Mai not so much.

“Did you have childhood friends?” Zuko asked, peering up at Lu Ten with his good eye.

“I think I played with a couple of the noble children growing up,” Lu Ten said, considering it, “Man, now that you mention it, I can’t really think of anyone. It was just me and dad for a long time, tutors, a couple of guys I had to make nice with during training, then the war.”

“Sounds kinda lonely,” Zuko mumbled, curling into himself a bit more. He couldn’t really imagine having friends of his own. It would be nice though, to have someone to laugh and do stuff with. To speak that silent language of love and want, and being loved and wanted back.

“We’re childhood friends, if you think about it.” Lu Ten said, smiling gently, “I’ve known you your whole life.”

“I was a baby for a lot of it,” Zuko said, frowning a little, “Does it count?”

“Well, I wasn’t.” Lu Ten said, “I think it does.”

“Right, because you’re old.”

“Hey!”

Zuko punched the air again and produced only the barest whisper of smoke.

Tears pricked against the back of his eyes, but he blinked them furiously away. Babies cried. He wasn’t a baby. He slumped against his bed, grabbed a cushion, and muffled a short scream of frustration into it.

It had taken his _so long_ to move past mediation techniques and into the basic forms. Maybe this was Agni’s way of punishing him for having traitor’s blood. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, both the good one and the bad one, and tried to reach inside himself for something. Anything. 

There was a knock on the door.

Zuko held his breath and went very quiet, which was a dumb thing to do since obviously he was in there and whoever was outside knew that too.

“Prince Zuko?”

Oh, it was Rou.

“Prince Zuko, everything alright?”

Zuko considered not answering, but if he didn’t maybe Rou would come in.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Zuko said, and his voice wavered but only a little.

There was nothing for a bit, then Rou said, “Glad to hear it.”

And it did really seem like Rou was glad to hear it. Zuko thought about moving, maybe going outside to the gardens to feed the turtle-ducks. Or playing one of Rou’s card games. Or just letting the sun soak into his bones like a summer bath.

Instead, Zuko crawled up onto his bed and pulled the sheets up over his head. He imagined his limbs growing heavy. Heavy like the rocks that lined his mother’s pond. Maybe if he lay there long enough, he’d grow roots, pierce through the bed, grow all the way down to the caldera and whatever lay past that.

 _Useless,_ his father’s voice murmured in his ears. He whimpered and curled tighter into himself.

“You’re not here,” Zuko whispered to that voice, “You’re not real.”

It was right though, he was useless. A living breathing catalogue of everything somebody like him should be but wasn’t. A firebender who couldn’t firebend. A prince without an honorable name. Missing the use of most of an eye and half an ear; a walking blindside.

Time seemed inconsequential. Maybe he broke that too. The light pooling across his bedroom floor turned from gold to orange to red. After a while, Rou stopped knocking.

 _Good,_ Zuko thought dully, uncurling to roll onto his good side, pressing his working eye against a cool patch of his mattress. His eyelashes shushed against the cloth.

Evening slid in, purple. Zuko woke to his door opening and then the sound of a body sliding in. His mouth was dry, eyes heavy despite how much he’d slept. The body moved into his room. Fingers closed gently around the sheet near Zuko’s head and peeled it gently away.

“Hey,” Lu Ten whispered. Zuko turned, heavy limbed, to look at him, “Shove over.”

Zuko let Lu Ten bully him gently until they were pressed together. Lu Ten slung an arm around Zuko’s back, nose pressed against the top of Zuko’s head.

“Bad day huh?” Lu Ten rumbled. Tears pricked hot against the corners of Zuko’s eyes. He burrowed his face further into his cousin’s chest instead of answering.

“Woulda been here sooner but General Song was going on and on about wheat taxes,” Lu Ten said, a hint of laughter in his voice, “Oh man can that guy talk grain. I think I caught dad falling asleep with his eyes open.”

Zuko huffed a watery laugh in response. Lu Ten squeezed him gently, pressing the softest of kisses into Zuko’s hair. “Are you hungry?”

Zuko shook his head, sniffling.

“Alright,” Lu Ten said easily, “Wanna hear about my day?”

“Okay.” Zuko said, more air than sound. Lu Ten hummed, the sound buzzed soothingly down Zuko’s skull.

Servants came in to light the candles when the last of the sun had seeped out of the room. Lu Ten ignored them and so Zuko ignored them too until they went away, focusing on the looping tale Lu Ten was very confidently losing the plot on.

“–and the ribbon is important in the story, it comes back later–”

“I–” Zuko whispered as Lu Ten took a breath, and then stopped, throat clicking.

“Yeah?” Lu Ten said softly, the pieces of his story dissipating like water dripped onto hot sand.

And through the clogging shame that stopped up his throat, Zuko choked out, “I think I’ve lost my inner flame.”

“Sword-training,” Iroh said thoughtfully over the still brewing tea. Lu Ten sniffed the steam appreciatively, letting the calming aroma of his father’s favourite jasmine blend settle his spirit.

“Yeah, apparently aunt Ursa let him have a couple of lessons before Ozai put a stop to it,” Lu Ten said, scowling a little at the thought of his uncle, “It’s not a terrible idea.”

Especially not if Zuko still couldn’t produce more than a puff of smoke on a good day. And Lu Ten wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to ever firebend again, but bending wasn’t an option it was a necessity.

A bender could go insane without their element. The day he and his father had learned the details of what the Fire Nation really did with war criminals, he had mechanically excused himself from the reparation meeting and gone somewhere private to throw up.

Knowing that other benders had been subjected to that – by his uncle’s command, his _grandfather’s_ – was unthinkable. Picturing Zuko wasting quietly away from the product of his own self-loathing was impossible.

Zuko hadn’t had a day that bad again after his confession the other night, but something was visibly different about his cousin. Zuko would seem alright one moment, scowling and spirited. Nicking his fingers on Tien Ho’s sewing needles. Making Rou teach him how to walk on his hands down corridors. And then Lu Ten would look over in a moment of quiet, and the teasing easy joke on his tongue would turn to dust at the dull unfocused look on Zuko’s face. 

“Who was his teacher before?” Iroh asked, gesturing Lu Ten to pour the tea.

“Master Piandao,” Lu Ten said, smiling a little, “Even Ozai couldn’t begrudge the greatest swordmaster of our time a few lessons with the prince.”

“The lady Ursa was shrewd in all things,” Iroh said, and they took a moment of silence remembering her, “I think the lessons will be good for Zuko, and it will be good to see my old friend again.”

“Of course you guys are friends,” Lu Ten said, shaking his head, “It’s like you’re in a club for famous old men.”

“You young men don’t know respect these days,” Iroh chided, although his grin let Lu Ten know he took no offense, “Let your cousin know that I will arrange for lessons to begin as soon as possible.”

Zuko’s startled smile at the news felt like the sun was shining directly into Lu Ten’s heart.

“We’ll have to commission you a new sword,” Lu Ten said, cheered by the thought of a trip to the markets, “And training gear too, since you’ve probably grown a couple of inches since I got back.”

“You think so?” Zuko said shyly, pink with pleasure.

“Definitely,” Lu Ten said, his grin veering dangerously into soppy territory, “I bet you’ll end up taller than me.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Zuko said after a beat, craning his neck up consideringly, “You’re not that tall.”

If Lu Ten loved him anymore his heart would implode. 

“You are such a little shithead,” Lu Ten said, awed, “I can’t believe we’re gonna let you run around with a sword.”

“Swords.”

“What?”

“ _Swords_ ,” Zuko said, emphasizing the plural, “That’s what I was learning under Master Piandao.”

Agni, this kid would never stop surprising him.

“Swords then,” Lu Ten said admiringly, “What, one wasn’t enough for you?”

Zuko shrugged, “Master Piandao said it would be a shame if me being left-handed went to waste.”

Zuko was left-handed? Lu Ten tried to remember if he knew that. Zuko shrugged when Lu Ten voiced the thought out loud.

“Well not anymore,” Zuko said easily, “I can use both hands pretty much the same now. S’was the only thing fath- _he_ said sword lessons were good for since none of my other tutors could fix that.”

Lu Ten swallowed his automatic response, willing his body not to tense up. The implication that his uncle would make Zuko feel bad for being _left-handed_ was absurd. Not in the slightest bit out of character. But also, absolutely batshit insane.

“That’s a useful skill to have,” Lu Ten said when he felt like he could talk without breathing fire, “You should show me some basics.”

“Really? You want to?” Zuko said, eyes shining, “I think I have my old training dao somewhere in my room.”

“Yes, yeah, let’s do it,” Lu Ten said, because he hadn’t said no to that face yet, and he wasn’t planning to start today, “C’mon, show me what you’ve got.”

“Still not speaking to her, huh?” Rou said. Lu Ten shrugged, unsmiling. He didn’t really want to talk about it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” He said out loud, just in case it wasn’t clear. Rou sighed, setting down his drink.

“You know she’s just doing her job.” Rou said.

“She’s good at it,” Lu Ten said, aiming for careless and landing short, even to his own ears, “She can be good at it without us talking.”

“Why are you so hung up about this?” Rou said, sounding genuinely curious, “It’s not like she’s doing it out of spite. You know she cares about you, and if you father asked, any of us would do the same.”

Lu Ten shrugged, looking hard into his drink as if it held the answers. He wasn’t angry, not really, but there was a yawning hole in the pit of his stomach, still sore whenever he poked at it.

“Look, I get you’re mad she didn’t tell you—”

“I don’t care that she didn’t tell me,” Lu Ten interrupted tersely. Rou’s mouth shut with an audible click, and the look he gave Lu Ten was unbearably patient. Lu Ten scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand.

_Okay Lu Ten, let’s see if you can do this again without being a total jackass._

“Alright, I mean, I care a little that she didn’t tell me,” Lu Ten muttered, “But I get why she didn’t, I’m not that stupid.”

Rou’s lips quirked a little, like he was trying not to smile. Lu Ten didn’t kick him under the table but it was a close thing.

Why was he so mad about this anyway? And if not mad, then what was he? He cast his mind back to that night, the way she kept trying to shield him with her smaller body. How she had kissed him unreservedly, making herself a future target for whoever sent those assassins.

Lu Ten pushed his cup away so he could lean his elbows on the table. He let his head drop onto the back of his hands, cramming his knuckles into his closed eyes. He understood, suddenly, the strange swirl of emotion in his stomach. And right on the heels of it, why he was avoiding the person who was probably his best friend. 

“I don’t want anyone to die for me,” Lu Ten said quietly, “Not you, not her, not anyone.”

“Ah,” Rou said, then unexpectedly, “I don’t know if we can do that.”

“What?” Lu Ten said sharply, lifting his head.

“I said, I don’t know if we can do that, sir,” Rou said evenly, unmoved by Lu Ten’s furious expression.

“What if I ordered you to?” Lu Ten said coldly, “I could send all of you away. You’ll never see me again.”

“Oh my fucking spirits, it’s because we _love you, dumbass._ ” Rou shot back angrily, “And I’m sorry I called you a dumbass, but any one of us would die for you, we know you’d do the same for us. That’s not something you can tell us not to do.”

Lu Ten stood so abruptly the table shook. He opened his mouth, but words deserted him, and he turned around and stalked out.

It took him all the way to the steps of the palace to cool down. Taking a seat on the top stair, he rested his arms on his knees, closing his eyes against the cool night air.

“Come out, I wanna talk to you.” He said at last.

She was there when he opened his eyes, stood a few steps down, deference in every part of her body like she was a stranger. He’d missed her, he realized. Even when he was at his angriest, he’d missed her.

“Well?” He said, after the silence had gone on too long.

“Well what, sir?” Terashi replied, and he was almost bowled over with relief at the insouciance that leaked into her tone.

“I know you heard what I said to Rou,” Lu Ten said, looking at her coolly, “I’m not interested in anyone dying for me.”

Terashi’s eyelids fluttered and then drooped, heavy, like she was bored.

“Alright, sir.” Terashi said, easy, “So I won’t die.”

Lu Ten let out a slow breath. Their world was not one where they could keep such promises. He had seen men die holding onto images of their loved ones. Had knelt beside soldiers in their death throes wailing for their mothers, wives, husbands, children. Love was nothing beside the harsh reality of death.

And yet he held out an arm, wordless. She clasped it, and the hand that gripped his forearm was steady; deceptively strong.

“Deal.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on twitter at [@longly_](https://twitter.com/longly_) !


	3. Skinny Frog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scar flowered against the child’s face, petals in the shape of fingers pressed against the ear; a caricature of a father’s caress. Piandao had served on the frontline till he got sick of it. Seen men crushed, and burned, and scored through with blade and arrow. He had seen cruelty in all its forms and maleficence, in the high of its violence, the subtleness of its insipience. But this. This. 
> 
> _If I ever see Ozai I’m going to kill him_ , Piandao thought serenely, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed his old student. _I’m going to run him through and make him choke on his own intestine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of those chapters where I had it all written out last week, then someone in the comments went 'oh wouldn't it be cool to see more Piandao', and my brain went 'ooooh that would be cool' and then I had to break the plot into more chapters. Isn't writing an adventure? 
> 
> I love you guys. Thanks for all your kudos and reviews!

“Are you going to say it suits me?” Iroh said, rolling a tile gently between his fingers, contemplative, as if the old trickster didn’t already know his next three moves.

Piandao smirked, “I think I know you better than that.”

The invitation, when it came, had been unexpected. So too Iroh’s white lotus tile that accompanied it. The tile sat with him now, Iroh had not inquired of it. Piandao could be patient. After all he had not seen his friend in years.

The dome of the night sky revolved endlessly above them. So too the dream-like stars. The storied balcony gave the illusion of privacy, as if there needed be guards stationed to protect two of the most dangerous men in the four nations.

They paid the world no mind, so engrossed were they in their game. When Piandao had stolen into the palace in the middle of the night, the board had already been set up and waiting. The Fire Lord himself ready to receive him with a grin a little wider than protocol.

Iroh finally played, and it was easy to see the trap. Easy, yet Piandao picked up his own tile and walked right into it. Sometimes it was better to fold into the flow of the old dragon’s schemes, if only to see how they would play out. In pai-sho, Piandao reflected wryly, and in life as well.

“It does suit you,” Piandao said quietly as Iroh moved to refill their cups. “The crown. Although I know you did not want it.”

Iroh smiled, and in the shallow light of the lone candle that sat between them, he seemed too, to flicker. It had been a long time since they had been young men together, but it was strange to see Iroh look so tired, so old.

“Thank you,” Iroh said finally, laying the end of his trap, “Although I wish I would not have to.”

They were not made to talk so circularly. Piandao himself was a blunt man, too given to honesty to be any good at politics. He finally withdrew the tile from his sleeve and loaded it into the trap. The only place that it could possibly have sat in their game and made any sense at all.

“Ah,” Iroh said, smiling, “My old friend.”

He meant the tile. He meant Piandao. No, they were not made to talk so circularly, but it did not mean Iroh could not do it and do it well.

But Piandao was a straight-forward man. He said, “Is it wise, to put a sword in the hand of a traitor’s son?”

He did not mean it unkindly, these were just the facts. The last time he’d left the child, Zuko had bowed to him with trembling lips, his small calloused fingers fisted at his sides. So little had been the prince who clutched at any scrap of affection. So earnest had he been to please.

“He is my nephew,” Iroh said, voice mild like the ripple-less glide of an octodile, harmless only in theory, “I do not hold the sins of the father against any child.”

Piandao had suspected, but it was a relief to see for himself where Iroh stood on the matter. Ozai was a cruel man. Piandao had sorely regretted leaving Zuko behind. He would have taken the child to Shu Jing if he could, kept him close like he allowed of Chin Fat, as a formal disciple. But a life of sweeping floors and making meals was too low for even the most unloved of princes to be seen to bear. 

“Nor I,” Piandao said. The wind had picked up, plucking invisible fingers through their robes, their loosened hair. “I do not teach just anyone, you know.”

“I do not command you,” Iroh said. His eyes shone steadily, a gold found only among the dragons. “You are, of course, free to choose your students.”

Piandao did not doubt it. The prince had been worthy then, but it did not mean he would be worthy now. Time changed all men, both the pain and pleasure of it. It was only luck that one could claim to have sipped more from the latter.

“I will try him out,” Piandao said, and covered his tea-cup with his hand so that Iroh knew he did not want another drink, “Usually it is the young men who travel half the world to meet me, not the other way around, old swindler.”

Iroh beamed, he turned his tile over, indicating his resignation. Piandao had won the game, but had the distinct feeling he had…maybe not lost, exactly, but given ground. Iroh started gathering up the tiles, slipping them back into its pouch. _Click, click, click._

“You did not call me all this way to teach a child,” Piandao said quietly. Iroh did not look up from clearing the board, but there was no mistaking his grimacing smile.

“I did not,” Iroh agreed, palming his white lotus tile, “I am campaigning for peace.”

“So I’ve heard,” Piandao said, “I did not think I would see it in my lifetime.”

Not a rebuke but close. Iroh inclined his head silently to receive it.

“I need Omashu,” Iroh said quietly, “I need Ba Sing Se.”

Bumi was one of them. It should have been a small thing to have one, if not both.

“You do.” Piandao said neutrally. Iroh put the pai-sho board aside, but kept hold of the lotus tile, tapping it twice in thought.

Bumi then. In danger or already come to harm.

“Perhaps one day.” Iroh said finally. He palmed the tile, slipping it up into his generous sleeve.

The prickly sensation of being spied on was easy to ignore, especially from such a little one.

Terashi chewed meditatively on her riceball, tempted to turn in the little princess’s general direction, maybe toss her a little wave. Not that she was underestimating the little princess; hard to, when the girl was radiating such murderous intent.

Where did the princess and her friends go when they weren’t playing at being spies? They could be anywhere, disguised as anyone, hidden among the growing network of Ozai sympathizers – a web so tangled that a single wrong move would send them scattering.

The single would-be assailant that they had left alive from the other night had not been forthcoming with information. But the clues were there. In the dead bodies from the alley that had vanished before they could be collected and searched. In the capsule Terashi had pulled from their captive’s mouth they later tested and found to be nightshade.

It was no stretch of the imagination to assume that the princess had allies in their ranks. Among their noblemen, their generals, their lords. Before all of this Ozai, however monstrous, had been just a man. Now he lingered like decay, metastasizing into the heart of the Caldera itself, the idea of him as insidious as any wasting plague.

Iroh should have struck his brother down where Ozai stood. But it hadn’t been mercy, after all, that had spared Ozai’s life that day. Something the princess probably knew better than anyone.

Below her, Lu Ten and the princeling practiced sword drills. Lu Ten knew the basics at least, even though his battle preference leaned towards his bending prowess. Conversely, the princeling seemed to come alive with the blade, moving from kata to kata like a dance. 

The famous master Piandao had been received without fanfare the night before. The man in question was breakfasting with the Fire Lord, sequestered away from the dozen curious eyes wanting to see the greatest sword-master of their generation, including Terashi’s own. According to Lu Ten, the two were old friends, maintaining their regular pai-sho games over coded letters flown to and from Ba Sing Se by hawk.

The princeling wasn’t half bad actually, favouring his left side, but not as heavily as someone with his injuries should have been. Ozai had meant to cripple his only son, but the child clung to life tighter than anyone Terashi had ever met.

 _That’s right,_ thought Terashi, fierce and sudden, _Don’t let that bastard get you down._

The princeling muttered something and Lu Ten’s cheerful laugh rang through the courtyard. Terashi sucked the last grains of sticky rice into her mouth, and the presence finally slipped away.

A servant entered the courtyard followed by Rou whose turn it was to be on the rotation. This was Lu Ten’s cue to be shuffled to another long and very boring court meeting, and her with him. In her opinion being royalty sucked ass.

“Oh, major ass,” Lu Ten agreed at their next Rotation Meeting, aggressively pinching the bridge of his nose as Terashi leaned over to pull the bag of fire flakes from his unresisting hand, “Ass season all the time, which I never thought I’d ever be complaining about but here we are.”

“Wonderful,” Tien Ho deadpanned, slumped comfortably between Rou and Terashi on the cushioned bench they’d dragged into the minor office Lu Ten had unofficially claimed as his own. “Is that all? Can I go?”

“No, you have to stay and take notes,” Lu Ten said, leaning his head back onto Terashi’s knees, slouching deeper into the floor, “It’s not an official meeting if there aren’t any notes.”

Tien Ho cast a long-suffering look at the scroll on his lap, woefully blank. “Can’t take notes if the meeting doesn’t start.”

“Would you be less grumpy if I paid you?” Lu Ten said hopefully, eyes closed. If they left him alone, he’d probably take the chance to drift off into a nap on the floor as they murmured above him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“If I let you pay me this would be my job.” Tien Ho said. Rou huffed a laugh in response. This was a well-worn argument, one they rehashed comfortably almost every meeting.

“And that would be different how?” Rou said.

“I already have a job,” Tien Ho said stubbornly, “This is a temporary volunteer position only.”

“That sounds nice,” Lu Ten said wistfully, “What’s that like?”

They all knew that Rotation Meetings were really just Lu Ten’s way of convincing the court scheduler to create little blocks of time for him to unwind. If said court scheduler had her way, she’d fill up every second of his life with meetings. He and his father had to grab time for themselves where they could, however they could. Fire Lord Iroh, for example, took naps under the guise of Royal Meditation time.

“Quit bitching,” Terashi said, tossing the fire flakes back when Lu Ten made grabby hands for it, “I have to sit through those shitty meetings same as you remember?”

“The crown thanks you for your service,” Lu Ten said, opening his eyes to bat them at her, “But at least you don’t have to pretend to laugh at Lord Akashi’s jokes.”

“I don’t know why _you_ have to,” Terashi said unsympathetically, “Actually, why isn’t Rou in on some of your meetings? I thought it would come with that field promotion you gave him at Ba Sing Se.

Rou sat up abruptly, Tien Ho yelping in protest at being so suddenly dislodged, “I’ve just realized I have to be anywhere but here.”

Lu Ten craned his head around in delight, a hand shooting out to grab Rou’s ankle before Rou could escape, “I didn’t think of that!” Lu Ten said as Rou glared daggers at Terashi who just grinned in response, “Rou, you definitely have to start sitting in. I’m sure dad’s eager to get your insight on some of the stuff we’re talking about.”

“ _My_ insight?” Rou yelped as Tien Ho started laughing softly beside him, “Do you want me to embarrass you in front of the Fire Nation, because I probably will.”

“I have the utmost faith in you,” Lu Ten said earnestly, “Having you there would be so great. Sometimes it’s like I’ve got no one in my corner except dad, and he can’t be there all the time.”

Terashi could see Rou crumbling like the giant softy he was. Caught up in her amusement, she wasn’t prepared when Tien Ho dryly piped up, “As much as I’d love for Rou to have a hand in shaping our new nation, does that mean we’re losing a rotation member?”

Lu Ten’s face fell, “I didn’t think of that.”

Iroh was with Zuko now, which was why they could all snatch a moment to be together, but the reality was that Zuko needed some sort of detail at all times. Things were too volatile, and the princeling too vulnerable.

Terashi looked at Lu Ten’s clear disappointment, and then at Rou who, honestly, would be a great help during those shitty meetings. It was always two steps forward, one large impossible step back at those things. Lu Ten would propose a reform, the old fogies would talk it to death from every dumbass unnecessary angle, and then table it for the next meeting to do it all again.

Someone like Rou, who came from a respected noble family, had status in the war, and spoke charismatically would be a boon to Lu Ten’s side.

Fuck her life. She used to be a hardened soldier! And before that, a name only whispered among the criminal underworld. Running with the prince was making her soft. She covered her eyes with her palm and swore under her breath.

“What?” Lu Ten said.

“I guess if Rou is with you when your dad isn’t in meetings, I’ll join your fucking rotation,” Terashi said slowly, already regretting the suggestion, “It’s not a bad idea, and you’ll still have someone the Fire Lord trusts on guard duty when I’m not around.”

“Are you sure?” Lu Ten said. Terashi cracked open her fingers to see him giving her the full force of his awed puppy-eyed expression, “Terashi, you’re a genius.”

“So I’ve been told.” She said wryly, slanting a look at Tien Ho who looked greatly amused by this turn of events, “You can go ahead and include it in the meeting notes.”

“Are you sure?” Tien Ho said, not bothering to hide his mirth, “Once I do, there’s not going back.”

Terashi let out a heartfelt groan, but gave him a tired hand gesture, “Yeah, why not. What’s another bane to my existence?”

The first time Terashi had seen the little prince, he had been little more than a blob peering down at them from the balcony as Fire Lord Azulon gave a rousing speech on the importance of their mission, and how he’d every faith in Prince Iroh’s capabilities to fell the wall of Ba Sing Se.

The kid had been forth in line for the throne then, more of an abstract concept than an actual person. She wasn’t one to care for children. Couldn’t, if she wanted to build any sort of stomach for the war. Terashi hadn’t given him another thought during her years at the frontline

So, really, it wasn’t her fault she didn’t know what to say when she came face to face with the prince for the first time properly.

“Zuko, this is Terashi. Terashi, Zuko.” Lu Ten said cheerfully, as if Zuko wasn’t doing his best to blend into Lu Ten’s robes.

The child had a hunk of bread twisted in his hands, and there were already a small gaggle of turtle-ducks plodding around his feet to nibble at the fallen crumbs. _It was,_ Terashi thought grudgingly, _really fucking cute._

Terashi formed the flame between her hands and bowed, reluctantly amused when Zuko fumbled to do the same. She glanced at Lu Ten and felt an overwhelming urge to knock that look off his face, the one where he knew things were falling into place for him.

“Terashi here is an expert spy, a master of stealth shall we say,” Lu Ten said, cheerfully oblivious to the killing intent she was sending his way, “She’s going to teach you some life skills.”

“I’m going to fucking _what_.” Terashi said, and belatedly realized she maybe shouldn’t curse in front of the baby. Well, tough. When Lu Ten asked her to meet him at the palace gardens to officially join the rotation, she’d thought he wanted her to guard the kid, not weaponize it. Him. Whatever.

“C’mon, please,” Lu Ten said, clasping his hands together and turning the full force of his puppy eyes at her. It looked ridiculous on his handsome face, but it somehow never failed to make girls visibly swoon. “Tien Ho’s already teaching him field surgery, and Rou’s showing him acrobatics, not to mention his sword stuff with Master Piandao. All he’s missing is a little…” Lu Ten gestured vaguely, as if to encompass her entire skill-set.

“That’s not going to work on me.” Terashi said flatly, “And don’t go around telling people I’m an expert spy. That defeats the purpose, dumbass.”

Zuko was looking at them with wide eyes like he was watching a beachball match. That was also kinda cute, Terashi thought reluctantly, if someone was into that sort of thing. She caught Lu Ten watching her watch the kid, trying and failing to contain his grin.

“Got something to say?” Terashi said testily, trying to communicate with her eyes that he owed her something sharp and expensive for this.

“Just my profuse thanks.” Lu Ten said innocently.

“Yeah, yeah,” Terashi grouched. With a little effort she toned down her glare to look over the princeling with critical eyes. She didn’t really know how to train kids. Most of her skills had been learned from a combination of _doing something she wasn’t supposed to_ and then _not getting caught._

Well, better than an afternoon standing around being some princeling’s glorified babysitter.

“Alright,” Terashi said, “I’m hungry, is anyone else hungry?”

“I could eat,” Lu Ten said, unphased by the non-sequitur. The princeling’s eyebrows furrowed. She caught him sneaking a glance at the bread in his hands, and then back at her like he thought she’d been angling for it or something.

She cast her eyes towards the sun and prayed for Agni to give her strength. Or maybe strike her down where she stood. Either or.

“You know where the kitchens are, kid?” Terashi said, still looking up.

“…yes?” The princeling said meekly.

“You like games?”

“It depends.”

Terashi looked back down to the kid to give him a funny look. She had a very limited knowledge of kids, but she’d thought for sure they loved games.

“On what?” She said.

“On, um,” The kid said, winced, and then said, “On the loser penalty.”

“What’s a loser penalty?” Lu Ten asked.

“Like,” The kid looked down at his shoes and mumbled, “Um, loser has to sit in the pond until the winner says they can get out, or…getting a gut-punch sandwich.”

“The fuck kind of game is that.” Terashi said, looking over the princeling’s head to see her reflexive alarm mirrored in Lu Ten’s face. Who the hell would give the prince a _gut-punch sandwich?_

“Well, it’s not that kind of game,” Lu Ten said carefully, mouthing _we’ll talk later_ over the princeling’s head, “Terashi, why don’t you explain what you mean?”

“First of all, there is no loser penalty. Losing is punishment enough,” Terashi said, and ignored the thumbs-up Lu Ten flashed her, “Second of all, the next person to give you a fu- fudging gut-punch sandwich gets a whole loaf of bread from me, got it?”

Lu Ten said something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, _I don’t think you know how sandwiches work._ Terashi chose, in her infinite wisdom, to ignore him.

The princeling nodded, eyes wide, even the one with the scar.

“Okay, listen up brat,” Terashi said, and if Lu Ten didn’t want her calling a prince of the Fire Nation a brat he should have gotten a different teacher, “Here’s what’s what. I’m hungry. Get me a snack.”

“Like…fruit?” The princeling ventured.

“Do I look like I eat fruit?” Terashi said.

“You look like you eat _men_ ,” Lu Ten said under his breath, and Terashi valiantly resisted the urge to kick the heir to the throne in the palace of said throne.

“Yeah, fine, fruit is fine,” Terashi said before they could go into a whole thing, “Because I’m nice – shut-up, sir – I’m going to give you a head start. All you have to do is get me a piece of fruit before I get it myself without anyone noticing."

“Like…stealing?” The princeling said worriedly.

“Yep,” Terashi said, popping the p, “Come straight back the way you came. Meet me here when you’ve got one.”

The princeling looked at Terashi and then at Lu Ten who just shrugged.

“Listen to your master, Zuko,” Lu Ten said, “You won’t get in trouble, I promise.”

“Alright,” The princeling said slowly, like he was waiting for the punchline. When none came, he gingerly handed his bread to Lu Ten and made his way to the kitchens.

When the kid was out of sight, Terashi dropped her head in her hands and let out an aggravated sigh.

“So…” Lu Ten said. She looked up at him and gave him her best stink-eye.

“What.” She said flatly.

Lu Ten kept grinning at her.

“Stop that,” Terashi said.

“Stop what?”

“Your face.”

“Can’t help it, it’s the only one I have.”

Terashi flipped him off pointedly. He broke off half the bread as a peace offering, and they spent the rest of the princeling’s head-start feeding the turtle-ducks, which turned into an argument about what the optimal crumb-to-duck ratio was, and if turtle-ducks had wheat preferences.

“Time’s up,” Terashi said, interrupting a rebuttal on the advantages of end-piece versus middle-piece, “I’m gonna go see how the kid’s doing. You stay here.”

The kid turned out not to be in the kitchens at all. Terashi killed some time trying to spot the princeling, and gave up after it was obvious that he either wasn’t there or had picked a really good hiding spot. There was no way he’d been able to make it all the way to the kitchens, take some fruit, and then come all the way back without her seeing him.

She palmed a peach into her sleeve as she passed a fruit-bowl, a little annoyed that the kid had given her the slip. She hadn’t pegged him for an actual brat, but pissing her off seemed to be a trait that ran in the royal family.

So she was genuinely shocked to find the princeling waiting for her in the garden when she returned. There were leaves in his hair, and scratches down his arms, but in his hands was a large red apple.

She narrowed her eyes at him, “This isn’t from the kitchens.” She said.

“You didn’t say it had to be,” The princeling said, “You just asked if I knew where the kitchens were.”

Behind the princeling, Lu Ten looked like he was in his death throes.

Terashi took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled slowly from her mouth.

The princeling looked a little unsure, although he still extended the apple towards her, stem intact, smudged with dirt. Terashi rolled her eyes and reached out for the fruit, filing away the way the princeling flinched at the movement.

“No more cheating,” Terashi said gruffly, tossing the princeling the peach she’d stolen, “Next time, you’ll repeat my instructions to me until you can say them in your sleep.”

“Next time?” Lu Ten said innocently.

Fuck. Fine.

“Yeah,” Terashi said, biting into the apple, “Might as well.”

The scar flowered against the child’s face, petals in the shape of fingers pressed against the ear; a caricature of a father’s caress. Piandao had served on the frontline till he got sick of it. Seen men crushed, and burned, and scored through with blade and arrow. He had seen cruelty in all its forms and maleficence, in the high of its violence, the subtleness of its insipience. But this. This.

 _If I ever see Ozai I’m going to kill him_ , Piandao thought serenely, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed his old student. _I’m going to run him through and make him choke on his own intestine._

Beneath them, the young prince fidgeted, caught himself, and then fidgeted again.

Piandao could feel the weight of Iroh’s solemn gaze on the side of his face. Perhaps he should say something.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Prince Zuko,” Piandao said, gravelly with held back emotion, because it was, truly.

The child glanced between them, and what formed on his face was almost too awkward to be called a smile.

“You too, Master Piandao.” Zuko said. His voice had dropped a little, but still retained its boyish crack.

Zuko had grown since the last time he had trained with Piandao. Gone were the cheeks round with baby-fat, the gap-toothed naïf grin. He was still too thin for a boy his age, but lean with muscle. Piandao picked up his sword and gestured the young prince to do the same.

He watched Zuko pick up his swords. And there, there was the thing that was familiar despite all the changes; in the prince’s certain grip on his dāo, the spark in his burning eyes.

All dragons had capacity for great fury, profound lusts. And within that, a raw fanatic love. Zuko stepped forward into the proper stance, and the little scarred prince seemed to become larger, settling into himself like stilling waters. Piandao had met many men and women with an affinity for the blade, but very rarely had he met someone so plainly born to it.

“Have you been practicing?” Piandao said.

“Yes sir.”

Piandao smiled. “Show me.”

Ozai could burn and rage and raze every good thing in his path, but it was a triumph, sweet as anything, to see he could not destroy _this._ Lu Ten watched quietly, prevented only from shouting encouragements and praises by his father’s gentle caution. It would not do to distract his already jumpy cousin on his first official training day.

They were far enough, in theory, not to be a distraction. The four of them sat on different levels on the rock stair, Lu Ten near the top, Terashi next to him a couple seats down, and Rou and Tien Ho on his other side next to the other. None of them had wanted to pass up the chance to see for themselves one of the most famous warriors in the Nation.

Piandao stepped forward to strike, and Zuko lunged forward in a parry, trapping Piandao’s sword between the scissor-like cross of his dāo. Piandao broke free easily, coming around to Zuko’s left side to swiftly disarm him of a blade.

Zuko turned, a beat too slow, and Piandao tapped him gently with the flat of his blade to indicate Zuko’s loss. Piandao gestured for him to collect his blade.

“It’s his eye,” Terashi murmured next to Lu Ten. She leaned forward with her elbows on her splayed knees, unladylike. She was handsome like that still, despite her sexless armour and the crassness of her sloping grin.

“And his ear.” Tien Ho offered clinically.

Lu Ten inclined his head to show he heard. It was better to speak of Zuko’s disability factually, without pity or strong emotion; they didn’t make Zuko any less of a warrior, only a different kind. It would be a while still, to truly see how much of the left side of his face Zuko would regain the use of.

He turned to Rou to see if the man had anything to add. Rou caught his eye. Shrugged.

In a way, all four of them had fallen into the role of Zuko’s unofficial masters. Lu Ten knew, from the bits and pieces his cousin would and would not say, that Zuko’s past tutors had been cold and unkind. So it was a relief, to leave Zuko to one of them for long stretches of time, and know his cousin was being treated fondly, even if he wasn’t the one doing the spoiling.

“Doesn’t seem to stop him any.” Rou said, a trace of pride in his low and cheerful voice, “If I know the kid, he’ll find a way to be more of a terror on his left side in no time.”

Piandao was a good teacher, unyielding when it came to the proper forms, but gentle in correction. Zuko’s balance was off, anyone who worked with the kid could see it without being told in those words.

“That’s the beauty of the twin dāo,” Piandao said, his voice carrying across the courtyard, “The yin and the yang of them. If you lack anything on one side, the other rises to meet it, and yet you are only as strong as your weakest point.”

Zuko said something in response, too quiet to hear. Lu Ten rose a little at the look on his cousin’s face, the way Zuko ducked his head, fringe lowered to hide the left side of his face in shadow.

Piandao crouched to Zuko’s level, and the look on his face was soft, creased in gentleness. He said something to Zuko, and the little prince nodded, took a breath, and lifted his head.

Lu Ten felt the hard ball of worry in his stomach ease. Piandao was his father’s friend, and he trusted the man in theory. But Zuko had been shown so little kindness these past years, and Lu Ten didn’t want to take any chances.

“I hear he took out a hundred men at Shu Jing,” Tien Ho said, glancing up at Lu Ten.

“At least.” Lu Ten said, shrugging slightly, “I don’t know the full details, but obviously my grandfather wanted to keep the fact he sent a hundred men after a deserter, and came back empty-handed, hushed up.”

“Did he ever get that official pardon?” Terashi said, tilting her head as Piandao led Zuko into the next set of kata, “Ooh, look at that footwork.”

“Who knows,” Lu Ten said, “Dad doesn’t seem to be too worried.”

“Well, we can’t have war criminals running amok.” Terashi said lightly.

Lu Ten met her eyes. This was the safest Zuko could possibly be, hemmed in by all four of them plus the greatest swordmaster in the world. Even his prodigious cousin and her friends would be sorely outnumbered. Terashi met his eyes. Glanced to the treeline, and then back to him. Their voices would travel from this distance, if anyone cared to listen in.

“I think we can keep him around for now.” Lu Ten said. Terashi blinked, mouth curling into a lazy smile. _Message received._

“Hear that, Tien?” Rou said, nudging the other man, “A hundred men, then you can get out of _volunteering_.”

The last part was said in air quotes. Tien Ho shot Rou a dirty look.

“That sounds even more troublesome,” Tien Ho said darkly, “What would I even _do_ with a hundred men.”

Terashi shot Lu Ten a glare.

“No,” Terashi said evenly, before he could make the obvious joke, “Not a word.”

Lu Ten mimed zipping his mouth shut, locking it, and tossing the key over his shoulder with a wink.

Below him, Tien Ho reddened in realization, scowling balefully at Rou who didn’t bother containing his laughter. Rou whispered something into Tien Ho’s ear and got an elbow to the ribs for his trouble.

“They’re gone for now,” Terashi murmured when Lu Ten glanced back down at her, “They’re getting closer. Bolder.”

“Fine,” Lu Ten said, gazing out into the middle distance, and up towards the swirling endless sky, “I look forward to it.”

“Shit, I think he’s coming over.” Tien Ho hissed mid-conversation. Lu Ten looked over and, yep, training seemed to be done for the afternoon and the old swordmaster was heading purposefully towards their group.

“Can I help you?” Piandao said, low and amused as Tien Ho and Rou jumped up quickly from their slouches. Even Terashi seemed affected, straightening into attention out of her easy position.

Only Lu Ten stayed put, leaning forward in a half-bow as Piandao approached. He was still crown prince, after all.

“It is an honour to be in the audience of such a great man,” Lu Ten said, “Forgive us the intrusion, I hope we weren’t distracting.”

“Not at all, prince Lu Ten, the honour is mine,” Piandao said, warmer than Lu Ten expected him to be, “I didn’t know prince Zuko had a fan-club.”

Lu Ten laughed, “Oh that’s us all right,” He said, “Delighted to be here.”

A round of introductions, and Piandao seemed happy enough to be drawn into conversation. The man was a blacksmith, a master calligrapher, and an artist – easy to engage and full of stories. The discussion shifted inexplicably to Yosor-era poetry, which Lu Ten was more than happy to glaze over.

Zuko bounded up to them, curiosity evidently having won against his shyness. Zuko’s dāo were sheathed and strapped to his back, a little large still, but he would grow into them. Lu Ten rose to meet him half-way, slinging an arm around Zuko’s sweaty shoulders despite the boy’s growling attempt to get away.

“Quit,” Zuko whined, which would’ve been more convincing if Lu Ten didn’t know his cousin’s secret identity as a serial snuggler, “Ugh, you’re so embarrassing.”

“It’s my job,” Lu Ten said, and jostled his cousin fondly, “You looked really good out there. Master Piandao was telling us that you’ve come a long way.”

“Oh,” Zuko said faintly, looking cautiously pleased, “Yeah I– it was fun.”

“Good,” Lu Ten said, “I’m glad.”

Zuko nodded, and then let out a slow breath. Together they watched as Terashi pulled several small blades from her person and let Piandao inspect the make, sharing an amused look when the master said something that made her bray with laughter.

Lu Ten started to pull away when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He paused, glancing down at his cousin who was resolutely not looking back at him.

“Thanks,” Zuko said finally, thick and quiet, like he was overwhelmed, “I just– thank you.”

“Yeah,” Lu Ten said quietly, heart in his throat, full of that unnameable emotion that made him want to be better, want to be brave, “Yeah, of course.”

Zuko started showing up to meals with bandages around his fingers, covered almost entirely in ink and dirt, and wearing the kind of grin that Lu Ten had to blink very hard not to get emotional about. Sword training was a genius idea, and if he never had a better one ever again it would be worth it.

It also meant that Zuko started needing the Rotation members less and less.

“So why do we keep having to have these?” Tien Ho grumbled at their next Rotation Meeting. They were laid out in Lu Ten’s chambers, chased out of their usual space by a delegation of the merchant’s guild, petitioning for relief against the rising tariffs of Iroh’s new government.

“They’re important.” Lu Ten said, eyebrows drawn together as he looked at the _Go_ board. Terashi smiled at him serenely as she put one of her white pieces down, capturing a string of his blacks.

He had no more strategies and she knew it. But it was its own kind of fun to play towards certain defeat, making her work for victory in small excruciating steps.

“Are you jealous?” Terashi said, cutting right to the heart of it, and Tien Ho’s answering silence was altogether too revealing. Terashi glanced up at Lu Ten. “I know you are.” She said to him.

Lu Ten smiled down at his dwindling black pieces. Jealous? Yes. Of course he was. Dragons hoard, and he’d been greedy with Zuko’s time. It was, he was finding, difficult to let go. To concede even one hour more than he needed to.

“Never fear, Tien Ho, your volunteer services are still needed,” Lu Ten said lightly, playing one of his final moves, setting Terashi’s victory back by ant crawls, inches, “It’s tourist season after all.”

“Right, about that,” Tien Ho said, waiting for Lu Ten to look his way before continuing, “Is that something we’re going to address properly, or are we going to keep pretending that everything’s fine until it’s not?”

“All in good time,” Lu Ten said, even though he’d the same misgivings, “We can’t risk invoking a retaliation. Not now.”

“I get that,” Tien Ho said, “It’s just. Weird. Fuck off Rou, you don’t have to write that down.”

It was Rou’s turn to take the meeting notes. He leaned away from Tien Ho’s irritated swatting hand, clutching the scroll protectively in his hands.

“I don’t go to your work and tell you how to do your job,” Rou countered. Lu Ten glanced over to see Rou had doodled a pretty good likeness of Tien Ho with angry slashes for eyebrows next to the transcript of their conversation.

“You do actually.” Tien Ho muttered, raising a hand to press two long fingers against the bridge of his nose. Lu Ten let it be for the moment, turning back to the game.

“For a man with your temperament, you sure like a long con.” Terashi reproached, her smile tucked in like she didn’t want him to see her so amused.

“ _My_ temperament?” He echoed innocently, but did concede the game at last, placing his black stone on an open square.

Terashi fluttered a hand to her mouth in mock-surprise, but the grin she flashed him through her fingers ruined the effect.

Lu Ten turned, thinking to bully Tien Ho into playing a round, but Tien Ho still looked troubled.

“What’s bugging you?” Lu Ten asked him.

Tien Ho squinted at him, unimpressed, like Lu Ten was speaking an entirely different language.

“Specifically,” Lu Ten amended, because when it came to his neurotic ex supply lead, the answer tended to go along the lines of _most things_ , “About _this_ situation.” 

Tien Ho folded his arms, frowning a little, like he did when he was working out how to say something. For all Tien Ho’s grumbling and spitfire, Lu Ten knew his friend preferred working things out through actions not words.

“Oh,” Tien Ho said, his face clearing, “Right. None of you have sisters.”

Lu Ten blinked. That was true. He was an only child, Rou only had brothers and Terashi–

She shrugged at his questioning look, “Who knows?” She said easily, “What’s your point?”

“Sisters are different.” Tien Ho said, looking thoughtfully down at his hands, his thumb rubbing absently against his knuckles, “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“Like how we were in the army?” Lu Ten suggested, thinking of the men and women in his army, the way in the blood and mire they banded together in grim family.

Tien Ho glanced at Rou, and with silent expressions they spoke in that shared language borne from their years together.

“Kinda,” Rou said slowly, “When it’s your actual blood, there’s an…obligation, I guess. Duty. I don’t have to like any of my brothers, but I wouldn’t hesitate to fight or die for them.”

Lu Ten nodded. Anyone in the Fire Nation understood duty. It was the first thing they were taught, and the last thing they took to their graves if they had any honour at all.

“Yeah, see, sisters are different.” Tien Ho said, turning his palms up over his lap, quiet, beseeching, “If brothers have your sword? Sisters have your heart.”

There was a slip of paper tucked in the slit of his training boot.

Zuko looked around, but he was alone. One of Lu Ten’s pranks again, he thought absently. He plucked the note out of its resting spot, unfolding it as he shoved his foot into the shoe.

He read it. He read it again. His heel jammed against the sole of his boot but he hardly noticed.

 _Skinny frog,_ it said in her looping calligraphy, her syrup-bilious voice mocking him from the page, _hold on._

She was here. Or had been. Or still was. His heart seemed to stutter, tripping over itself, bird-panicky in his narrow ribcage.

Where. Where. Where.

It was a game they used to play. Notes they hid for the other in their clothes, under their cups, in the folds of their bedclothes. He wrote her scraps of lines from the scrolls he liked, randomly, or with words he himself could not tell her properly. She had no patience for poetry, but she seemed to like the little haikus he found for her. Basho, Yosa, Masaoka.

In return she gave him her own words. She always lied, but for the most part these were true.

_I know you have my ball, give it back or I will pinch you._

_Show me again the flip that Ty Lee taught you_.

_Father is angry today. Be a ghost, disappear._

A voice called his name. It unfroze him, breaking through the surface of his dazed terror. Master Piandao, just outside, waiting.

If he could bend he would turn the note to ash but, ashamed with weakness, he brought his palm to his mouth and swallowed it instead.

The parchment stuck between his teeth. It sat lodged in his chest, soggy and heavy and he knew he was too quiet but he had nothing to say.

“You are distracted today,” His master said as Zuko ran dutifully through the new kata.

“I’m sorry, master,” Zuko said. His mouth was too dry, the flat of his tongue metallic with ink. The handles of his training dāo were clammy with sweat. Was she here? Was she watching?

“Prince Zuko,” Piandao said, too close suddenly. Zuko jerked in surprise, falling out of his stance and almost onto the ground if not for Piandao’s hand on his arm.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Zuko said, wide-eyed. His master let him go, but did not step back. He didn’t look angry but then again, father had not looked angry all the time either.

“What are you apologizing for?” His master said, too canny. Like he could divine all of Zuko’s murky secrets from a knowing sideways glance.

“For being distracted,” Zuko parroted back, still shaken. “It won’t happen again.”

“It might,” Piandao countered easily. He motioned for Zuko to resume the drill, finally backing out of Zuko’s space. “Distractions happen, even when you can ill afford it. Sometimes it is life or death. Other times it is the difference between keeping or losing a limb. A swordsman’s mind must be focused to the task ahead.”

“How?” Zuko said.

His master was quiet for a while, then picked up his sword. They ran through the katas together, and despite himself, Zuko melted into it.

Piandao lowered his sword at last and Zuko followed, panting. A servant came forward to where they were sitting with water-skins, which Zuko drained from in long measured sips.

“This is the way of the sword,” Piandao murmured. Water glinted on the parched stone by Zuko’s knee, droplets like little mirrors of sun. He lowered the skin, listening.

This is the way of the sword, young prince. It is an extension of yourself. Like you, it is made of bone. Come, feel, put your hand on the steel. It does not bend like you bend, nor does it break so easily. Swing it true, and boldly. See, it is strong; a quivering mind does not make it any less itself but it would not honour it, nor allow it to serve the purpose it was made for. Master it, or you will be mastered. The sword. Your mind. Do you understand?

Yes? No.

Zuko.

He raised his head at the sound of his name, his fingers curled almost shyly off Piandao’s sword. Unexpectedly, Piandao crooked a smile. He laid a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, heavy and comforting.

“You will,” Piandao said warmly, “I do not doubt that one day you will be a greater sword-master than even I.”

_Skinny frog, hold on._

They ran through the kata again. He stepped from stance to stance, thinking only of the dāo in his hands, the glad ache of his body in motion, his feet shushing against the dust.

In the calm of his body’s learned routine, the thing in his heart turned more solidly. Instead of fear, he reached for it again and found resolve.

She was here. She was watching. But she was his sister – his blood knew her blood. When she came again, he would be ready.

_yasegaeru_

_makeruna_ _Azula_ ~~~~

 _koreni_ _ari_

_痩蛙_

_負けるな_ _阿祖拉_ ~~~~

_是にあり_

| 

_skinny frog_

_hold on!_

_Azula is here_  
  
---|---  
  
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **On Azula's note/poem** : a haiku written by Kobayashi Issa. Azula replaces Issa's name (一茶) with her own (阿祖拉) in this translation.
> 
>  **Go** : a board game played with white and black pieces on a grid board. 
> 
> This project is slowly taking over my life. Would love a beta/cheerleader/sounding board. DM me at @longly on twitter if interested!


	4. No Swears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Time for a hot bath,” Lu Ten said, the note of cheer in his voice sounding a bit hollow in the silence, “And then like, so much soup.”
> 
> What in the hell was she supposed to say to that? A split second of frantic over-Zuko’s-head telepathy cumulated in his elbow catching her in the rib and her knee-jerk response of, “Oh yeah I’d let a bowl of soup fuck me up.”
> 
> Lu Ten put a hand over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it been a month already?? Oh man does time fly when it's a pandemic and everything becomes hazy like a universal fever dream. In other news, I got a job! Essentially, my hiatus was basically due to a combination of trying not to get fired immediately, and an intense case of writer's block. Thank you so much for your patience!
> 
> And once again, thank you to all who kudo and review. Know that literally each comment makes me incredibly happy, and fuels my motivation to write more (especially those that contain interesting theories that I go 'oh man, wouldn't that be a cool way of looking at things)!

“So what I’m hearing is I _can’t_ punch a lord for insinuating you lost your cock in the war.” Rou muttered.

“They’ve said worse,” Lu Ten said, “At least they’re not outright revolting.”

“Great,” Rou said, shaking his head, “You know what? I almost wish they were, then we could _do_ something instead of talking in circles all day.”

“Welcome to politics,” Lu Ten said, even though Rou had been in it almost as long as he, “Cheer up, I think this is the last talk of the day.”

Straight-faced, Rou put his index fingers up and twirled them in mocking celebration.

“And then more tomorrow,” Lu Ten conceded, “And the next day, and the next day.”

“All this talking,” Rou muttered, knocking his head back gently against the stone wall, “Spirits. The history scrolls said it was going to be more exciting than this.”

“Sorry it’s not all dragon hunting and comet battles,” Lu Ten said wryly.

Rou made a disgusted noise at that, but he didn’t push the point. It was too nice a day to argue anyway, and neither of them wanted to waste their break on people not worth their breath.

Yoon’s servants flit gracefully in and out, already used to them being underfoot in that fond exasperated way all servants eventually came to interact with Lu Ten. No one had ratted them out yet for hiding like children in the shade of Yoon’s terrace, where indoors they had been having their meetings all week. Lu Ten leaned back. Between the beautiful warm weather, and the fragrance of Yoon’s lush gardens, he was tempted to spend the rest of the day drowsing.

A servant poked her head ‘round the corner, her braids swinging sweetly over her shoulder, “Your meeting is starting soon my lords. Cook’s told me to come get you.”

“Thanks, Mei Yin.” Lu Ten said. She pinked, either at his use of her name or the cocksure grin that accompanied it. Lu Ten was an incorrigible flirt, something he’d probably inherited honestly, if the stories of Fire Lord Iroh’s youthful escapades were to be believed.

Rou let himself be pulled to standing and they headed in after Mei Yin, ducking through the servants’ passageway that connected to the main hall.

“We probably know Yoon’s home better than she by now,” Lu Ten murmured, but would not elaborate despite Rou’s questioning expression. They took their places at the long meeting table, Lu Ten at his father’s right side, Rou at Lu Ten’s.

Yoon, stoic as always, met their eyes and her face softened slightly into what might have been amusement. She gestured with a thin hand at her hair. Rou and Lu Ten reached as one to touch the same spot on their heads, and sheepishly plucked errant leaves from their waxed scalps, leftover from their afternoon escape.

The meeting proceeded. Rou and Lu Ten took turns poking each other under the table to keep the other awake. No one was paying attention to them anyway, not with the Fire Lord sat in the room.

So it took them completely off guard when Lord Akashi, of the extremely dull humour, raised his hand before Yoon could conclude the meeting. The meeting which, if Rou had been tracking properly, had been a whole day on overseas ration logistics.

“We have received the disturbing report that the prince was attacked on the streets some nights ago,” Akashi said. He waited for the surprised murmur of voices to die down, eyes fixed on the Fire Lord until it was quiet enough to continue. “If this is true, why has this not been brought to our attention?”

Oh, _fuck no._ Rou struggled to keep his expression even, not even wanting to see what Lu Ten’s face looked like if he had any hope of not exploding with exasperation. He snuck a glance at Yoon and was gratified to see that she had her eyes shut, as if to ward off a headache.

“Lord Akashi, now is not the time,” Yoon started when Akashi interrupted like the fool he was.

“Now is precisely the time,” Akashi said, as if Yoon was just some woman and not outranked only by a handful of people in the Fire Nation, including the royal family, “Our nation is volatile as it is. Hiding such a thing from us will only hinder any progress we hope to build.”

Rou knew Akashi wasn’t the sharpest stick in the stick bundle, but spirits was he stupid. The rest of the nobles was very unsubtly looking between Akashi and the Fire Lord, waiting for something to happen.

“Lord Akashi, your concern has been noted,” Iroh said, and his voice was genial but his eyes simmered a cold steel gold, “However, as you can see, the prince is well.”

Lu Ten laughed.

“What’s a little attempted murder once in a while?” Lu Ten said cheerfully into the shocked silence, “Keeps the muscles primed, the blood pumping.”

Lu Ten slouched a little further into his seat. Caught Akashi’s bulging eyes. Winked.

“So it’s true,” Akashi said, recovering enough to regain some of his outrage, “Did you find out who was behind such a despicable act?”

“Nope,” Lu Ten said, popping the ‘p’, careless, “My guards took care of them all before we could ask.”

Well, except for one, but Rou was pretty sure no one was supposed to know about that. He stared steadily at Akashi, willing the man to slip, to give himself away.

“You take your safety too lightly my lord,” Akashi protested, “There clearly is a plot against your life.”

“We stopped it,” Lu Ten said, leaning forward to prop his chin against the ball of his open palm, eyes drooping at half-mast. “What’s the problem here, lord Akashi?”

Akashi sputtered. He looked from Lu Ten, to Yoon, to the Fire Lord. The other nobles had varying degrees of wariness and confusion on their faces but none dared speak up.

Rou met Yoon’s eyes again. She raised thin eyebrows at him; _Are you watching? Do you see?_

Yep, he saw alright, and what he did made him want to grab Lu Ten and make a break for it.

Lu Ten said bringing Rou to meetings was like finally having a shield. What he didn’t say was that he’d been charging into battle without a sword. Iroh campaigned for peace with strong careful words placed like tiles on a pai sho board – Lu Ten demanded it with a young man’s conviction, impatient with politics, unwilling to bend to the tide.

But here was the thing: there wasn’t a man or woman in there that did not profit from the war. Rou glanced around the table and found not a friend.

“I fear you are taking this too lightly, lord,” said one noble finally, one of the younger men from the Kuno family, “Forgive me the liberty, but our nation teeters on the brink. It would be a poor time for any enemy to triumph, we have so few of your royal blood as it is.”

Lu Ten dropped his hand, and for a split second his eyes sharpened. Rou took note of the young man who’d spoken up. Perhaps not all was lost after all.

“This discussion falls beyond the intended bounds of this meeting,” Iroh finally said, and all eyes once again fell on him, “I assure you that all proper measures are being taken. There has been no indication this is a returning threat. If it is, we are prepared.”

To watch Iroh lie so firmly and so easily sent a shiver down Rou’s spine. He clenched his fist under the table, trying to control his reaction. He had seen the Fire Lord fearsome in war, ruthless in strategy, molten in rage. It seemed to silly to only now truly be afraid of the man. Of how he wielded words as lethal as he did fire. 

“Very well,” Yoon said. Akashi opened his mouth but was silenced by Yoon’s cold glare. “I believe this meeting is adjourned. Tomorrow we will continue discussion on the new scholastic policies—”

“What a shit show,” Lu Ten declared.

Rou looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a rabbit-dillo, and was still trying to figure out how he’d gotten his ass soundly handed to him. Lu Ten clapped him on the shoulder in solidarity and got a dazed glare in return.

“Is it always like this?” Rou said.

“Akashi is an idiot,” Yoon said, her elegant fingers wrapped around a sake dish, “I don’t know what possessed him to put on such a spectacle today.”

Lu Ten glanced over at his father. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Yoon. It was that he didn’t know if he could trust anyone.

Iroh met his eyes and then turned to Yoon. He said, “I suspect you do.”

Yoon’s eyes sharpened. She put down the sake dish without spilling a drop, fingers curled elegantly over the table. She had been a noblewoman first, before a general. Beneath those silk robes lay a wiry strength, and beneath that the heart of a true warrior. If she chafed under Iroh’s peace-time ambitions she had never said a word.

Yoon put her hands, one on top of the other, over the table. She said, “What are you asking me?”

This was the kind of place information flowed like a current. Lu Ten had become friendly with the staff over the past few weeks, and just because servants were overlooked, didn’t mean they overlooked. This meant he’d learned a lot of really interesting things in between being bored out of his skull.

“What do you know about New Ozai?” Iroh said bluntly. Yoon didn’t twitch.

“Ah,” She said, and to her credit she didn’t pretend not to know what Iroh was talking about, “Yes, that foolish little movement.”

“Not that little,” Lu Ten said quietly, “Not from what we saw today.”

“You call that proof,” Yoon said, “That silly display?”

Lu Ten opened his hands in deference to her point. Beside him, his father put a hand against his beard and sighed.

“And where do you stand, General Yoon?” Iroh said.

“I stand with the crown,” Yoon said, “As I always have.”

“The movement seeks to place the crown on my brother’s head.”

“Any fool could see that,” Yoon said. Her eyes flickered between the three of them, settling inexplicably on Lu Ten. “And I understand why my loyalty now is called into question. But I did not forget Ba Sing Se, nor what happened at its gates, and how we risked everything to return you to your post. I am not a woman fond of politics nor of cruelty, though I have seen and done and felt so much of it. But I was for Lord Azulon, and now I am for you.”

“I see,” Iroh said, and Yoon turned her head back to him, “Thank you, General Yoon.”

Yoon saw them to her gates. She stood, alone and proud at the mouth of her household, old and weathered and noble.

“Is it just me or is she scary?” Rou said under his breath once they were out of earshot.

“Scary as _hell_.” Lu Ten whispered, then looked a little considering, “She’s kinda hot though huh.”

At Rou’s intensely disturbed look, Lu Ten corrected, “I meant like, for dad.”

“Oh right,” Rou monotoned, “Of course. I believe you.”

“What can I say, I’m a connoisseur.” Lu Ten said just to watch Rou shudder dramatically.

“Does that mean you trust her?” Rou said, cutting to the heart of it.

The number of people they could trust were dwindling but they were dragons, and dragons were not built to live in fear. Lu Ten fixed his eyes on the road ahead. His father’s broad back. The long paths and paved-ways taking them deeper into the heart of the nation they fiercely loved.

“I’d like to.” He said at last, and would say no more.

The notes appeared at random. Not regularly, or at any set time, but now Zuko knew to look, they started popping up everywhere. Every nook he thought was secret, every hiding place he knew, one would appear as if to say: _see? I knew about these too._

It was not always poetry. Sometimes there were jabs about his sword training. The fact that he was twelve and needed babysitters. Why he never seemed to bend anymore. He filled his stomach with these notes, or tore them into tiny pieces and scattered them, or one memorable time sliced his palm against one of its sharp edges in his haste to put it away.

Why he didn’t want them found, even he didn’t fully know. Azula was watching him, close enough that he thought once or twice he saw her inky hair disappear around a corner. Every morning he woke up with the muddled fear she’d been caught, the knot in his stomach easing at the next taunting note.

Where did she sleep? Was she eating okay? The worry niggled at him like a toothache.

They’d slept outside before, when Azula wanted to play soldiers, and father said that’s what war was like. He hadn't minded it, sleeping under the stars; the green soil-damp smell of it, and how, in the dark, sometimes fireflies would dart out like stars he could touch. Azula never lasted very long. She'd liked her comforts too much, the handmaids, soft linens. A roof. Zuko thought of her somewhere outside, dirty and miserable, and it made his stomach hurt for her. 

He tried leaving food for Azula once, her favourite kind of mochi and a bowl of dumplings. It kinda felt like the time he and mom found that stray litter of puma-kittens and they gave them scraps and little bowls of milk until their mom came back for them.

The mochi he found squashed in his boots, and the dumplings floating in the pond with the turtleducks. Thankfully, Rou asked very few questions when Zuko rushed into the water in a panic, scattering the turtle-ducks before they could peck at them. Rou assured him later that it would not have counted as cannibalism, and dumplings weren’t harmful to animals. In any case, Zuko got the hint loud and clear.

If Azula was here, where was father? More than once he had nightmares about rounding a corner or opening a door and seeing his father step out of the shadows like a screaming ghost.

But father would not sink so low as to do something as common as _spying._ And it was good right? That Azula was here without him, and that she seemed to be doing okay. Okay enough to have access to parchment and ink.

And well, if she wanted him dead, she’d have killed him by now.

Right?

The princeling paused to catch his breath, leaning his forehead against the stone. Terashi could hear him swallow a couple of times, the faint whistle in his chest as he took long bracing breaths.

They were about halfway up the Caldera walls, tethered by rope and Terashi’s constant assurances that she would definitely _not_ let him fall, and if he did, she’d catch him.

They were in no danger of falling, She had triple checked their gear herself, but sometimes the princeling got weird about heights.

It was probably the depth perception thing more than any real fear. Terashi didn’t know how much the kid could see out of his left eye, but that permanent squint couldn’t be doing him any favours. Still, it had taken the better part of the first day to convince the princeling to actually make it up more than two feet and Terashi was quickly running out of patience.

“Alright, kid?” Terashi said, looking up at the dark clouds gathering over what had been a perfectly clear sky.

He’d been gingerly picking his way up all afternoon despite being pretty adept at finding the right handholds. Lu Ten was waiting for them at the top. She could see him waving cheerily at them, probably with his usual shit-eating grin on his face, even if it was too far up to see it.

It’d be nightfall until they reached the top at this rate. She wouldn’t force him to rush normally, but the weather was a fickle bitch, and she said as much.

“You say a lot of bad words.” The princeling said in response instead of hurrying the fuck up like she wanted him to.

“What about it?”

“Girls aren’t supposed to say bad words.”

“Who told you that?”

“My tutors.”

“Well, next time you see them you can tell them to—”

“Master Terashi!” The kid said turning red all the way down to his neck, picking up the pace a little. She wasn’t even going to say anything that rude, although to the brat’s unsullied ears even the word _crap_ made him look like someone was going to jump out of the bushes and yell at him for being in its vicinity. 

On the bright side, it seemed that mortification was a good motivator for the kid to forget his fear and start moving again. She followed closely, feeling the gears in her brain shifting.

“Bitch,” She said loudly, just to test a theory, “Mother _fucker._ ”

The princeling gave her a horrified look and, yup she was definitely on to something, because the kid started moving even faster. She paused, and watched him until it seemed like he was slowing down again before she resumed her campaign of terror.

“You get the leopard-bird and moth-bee talk yet?” Terashi called up. 

“Please, stop,” The princeling shouted, “I didn’t even _do_ anything.”

“Well when two people love each other very much,” Terashi cried, gleefully watching as the princeling abandoned his anally careful grip to scramble frantically upwards, “They get into bed and then they have themselves a _special hug_.”

They made very good time up the wall. The princeling only slipped a couple of times, but Terashi didn’t let him pause and let the fear set in. Despite her teasing she watched him carefully, ready to reach out to stop his fall. She’d trained him enough to the point he knew not to push off the wall if he felt like he was slipping, and that Terashi would always, always, catch him no matter what.

They reached the top by the time the first fat raindrops broke from the sky. The princeling let Lu Ten heave him over the battlements by the armpits, and then used the power of having both hands free to slap them over his ears, glaring at Terashi miserably.

“Good job, brat,” Terashi said, slapping the princeling on the back so hard he stumbled a couple steps forward, “I think that was your best time yet.”

“You’re horrible,” The princeling moaned, leaning into Lu Ten who was watching them with laughter in his eyes, “How do you sleep at night?”

“Same as a princeling.” Terashi replied. At the kid’s confused expression, she clarified.

“Like a baby.”

“I’m not a baby.” The princeling snapped.

“You’re kind of a baby,” Lu Ten said, and laughed out loud at the betrayed expression on the kid’s face.

In the distance thunder rumbled followed by lightning, lighting up the sky in white jags of pure electricity. Terashi saw Lu Ten stiffen from the corner of her eye.

“We better get in,” Terashi said, and was pleased to see the princeling already gathering up their rope, “Tighter, brat. You can wrap it smaller than that.”

“Alright, alright.” Zuko grumbled, but did as he was told. The rain was starting to come down steadily. In a moment it would flush them out like rats in a storm drain.

They jogged along the parapet, keeping their head down to brace against the wind. By the time they got inside, the princes looked half-drowned, ridiculous. Terashi flipped her own short sensible fringe from her eyes, grinning as the princes started wringing their ponytails onto the stone.

“Could give you a haircut,” Terashi teased, ready to laugh at whatever sulking expression Zuko would respond with to the idea. Instead the kid’s eyes darted up at her, wide and…hurt? Before shuttering as he looked away.

Terashi’s smile slid off her face. She cast a look at Lu Ten who shook his head at her, his expression uncharacteristically grim.

“Time for a hot bath,” Lu Ten said, the note of cheer in his voice sounding a bit hollow in the silence, “And then like, so much soup.”

What in the hell was she supposed to say to that? A split second of frantic over-Zuko’s-head telepathy cumulated in his elbow catching her in the rib and her knee-jerk response of, “Oh yeah I’d let a bowl of soup fuck me up.”

Lu Ten put a hand over his face.

But it had the desired effect. Terashi bit back a grin as the little prince’s closed-off expression morphed into one of deep dismay.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Terashi said innocently, completely missing the point on purpose, “This one time I was on a mission, right? Followed this weapons dealer all the way into this sweet little food stall that had, I kid you not, the best spicy pork bone noodle soup I ever had. Like, melt-in-your-mouth meat. Fresh handmade noodles. Those crunchy green floaty things…I don’t fucking know what they’re called. Oh, and it came with an egg that I could _crack over it_ myself. Agni, when I say I almost botched that mission without regrets, I _mean_ it. Like, I would be fully willing to do most crimes to eat it again.”

Lu Ten stared at her, “Do you need a moment alone?”

“It’s not my fault I live an exciting and culinarily rich life.”

“Is that even a word?”

“Exciting? Oh sorry, I forgot you’re not familiar.”

“Green onion,” Zuko said, cutting off whatever retort Lu Ten was gearing up to, “The um. Green floaty things. Is that what they were?”

“Oh, probably,” Terashi said, smirking as Lu Ten flipped her off behind his cousin’s back, “The stall aunties usually know what they are when I describe them.”

Zuko nodded to himself, “What village was that?”

“That’s classified,” Terashi smiled, “But if we’re talking regionally, it was one of the clusters at Kirachu Island. What’s with all the questions?”

Zuko grinned.

“Um.” Tien Ho deadpanned, looking at the apron thrust into his hands by a passing kitchen staff, and then up at where Lu Ten was waving them in, completely covered in floor, and grinning like it was his birthday.

Rou was already putting his on cheerfully, tying the strings around his thick waist, “It smells awesome in here,” he said, waving at the kid who was…actually bullying Terashi into stirring something in a pot.

Tien Ho scrubbed at his eyes, and when the scene in front of him didn’t change, resigned himself to whatever madness this was.

The prince looked up as they approached.

“Are your hands clean?” Zuko said, peering at them judgementally, arms crossed over his skinny chest.

Tien Ho blinked, “No.” 

Behind Zuko, Terashi was making ‘save yourselves’ motions with the hand not actively cooking.

“You can go wash them over there,” The little prince said, pointing to one end of the kitchen, and then squinted at Terashi, “You’re stirring it wrong.”

“It’s stirring,” Terashi scowled, “How the he–…ck do you stir wrong?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m asking myself.” Zuko said.

“Holy shit.” Rou breathed, “This is the best day of my life.”

Zuko rounded on them as quickly as he did Terashi, “No swearing in my kitchen.” He said, a wild, almost ferocious light in his eyes. He even punctuated the statement by slashing through the air with his hand; the gesture a mirror image of the Fire Lord in a war meeting.

“Yes sir.” Rou said obediently, nudging Tien Ho in the side. Tien Ho twisted out of the way but grunted an affirmative as well.

“A messenger hawk, really?” Tien Ho muttered as he slid next to Lu Ten who was making a mess out of kneading dough, “I thought this was urgent.”

“It is urgent,” Lu Ten said, somehow sticky with dough all the way up to his eyebrows, “Urgently fun. We’re making noodle soup.”

“You’re making a mess,” Tien Ho said, gesturing impatiently for Lu Ten to get out of the way so he could restart the process the right way, “Why are you doing this, you’re shit at this.”

“No swears,” Lu Ten said, actually _looking over his shoulder_ as if afraid Zuko was going to pop out of a corner and glare at them, “Kitchen rules.”

“Bite me,” Tien Ho said, but grudgingly made sure to watch his tongue, “Okay, this is a lost cause, we’re going to have to start over. Go wash your…everything. And get me another bowl of water.”

“Yes sir,” Lu Ten said, wiping his hands down his apron already hopelessly streaked with cooking ingredients.

Lu Ten was terrible at rolling out noodles, produced chopped vegetables in absurd shapes, and ended up too busy bickering with Terashi to be of any actual use. It was a good thing cooking wasn’t part of his royalty duties or the whole nation would be screwed.

Rou got roped into being the little prince’s assistant, using his long limbs to reach for hanging vegetables, woks, spatulas. And Terashi…stirred the soup. Tien Ho caught her sneezing into her elbow a couple of times, a testament to how much peppercorn must be in it.

“You’re good at that,” Zuko said looking pleasantly surprised when he and Rou got to Tien Ho’s station. Neat little rows of noodles lay waiting in front of him in uniform ropes of dough. Tien Ho dusted the one he was working on in a light coat of flour and smiled down at the prince.

“Thank you,” He said, soothed by the repetitious work and the promise of good home-cooked food at the end of this strange evening, “You’re not bad yourself.”

“High praise,” Rou snorted, then tilted his head, “Here you’ve got–” He reached out to thumb flour off the edge of Tien Ho’s cheekbone.

Tien Ho swatted him away, annoyed. The kitchen was too fucking warm.

“Is the shape okay?” Tien Ho said, gesturing at the long thin flat strips on the table, “I can make round ones too, but this is what Lu Ten was…well what it looked like he was aiming for.”

Zuko’s face did that squinty-eyed, pinched-mouth thing for when he was trying not to smile. It fooled nobody, and was endearing as hell.

“Yeah,” Zuko said, “Was the dough okay? Cook said it’d been resting for an hour.”

“S’was fine,” Tien Ho said with a shrug, “You know a lot about noodles huh.”

“Mom taught me,” Zuko said, then blinked rapidly, jaw muscles working like he hadn’t quite meant to say it.

“Oh yeah?” Rou said easily, coming to both their rescues, and thank Agni for his ability to read a room, “My mom couldn’t boil water. I’d be surprised if she could cook rice.”

“So you came by that honestly then,” Tien Ho said, slipping gratefully into the familiar rhythm of banter, “Or are we conveniently forgetting why no one lets you near the cooking pot.”

“Don’t listen to him defame my good name, sir,” Rou said earnestly, shifting the dozen things in his arms into a less precarious stack, “There’s a conspiracy against me, I swear.”

Zuko narrowed his eyes doubtfully at Rou, as if pondering the wisdom of letting Rou into his kitchen, “Why doesn’t anyone let you near the cooking pot?”

“One time,” Rou protested, “One time I undercook the fish–”

“Undercook?” Lu Ten called out gleefully from his turn at stirring the soup, a job everyone privately agreed not even he could screw up, “We were spitting out scales.”

Zuko sputtered, covering his mouth. It took a second to realize the low pained sounds the kid was choking out wasn’t noises of horror. Zuko was honest to Agni _giggling._

Lu Ten had the most idiotic look on his face, part disbelief, part on the precipice of bursting into tears. Tien Ho hid what was threatening to be a fond smile behind his palm as the little prince struggled to regain his composure.

“Scales.” Zuko whispered, hiccups of laughter catching in his chest like badger-frog croaks, “ _Scales?_ ”

“If they weren’t good for you, why would they be on the fish?” Rou said, grinning so hard it had to hurt.

“Hey kid?” Terashi said quietly, siddling in next to him. Zuko looked up from where he was saving the vegetable ends for Cook to make stock with.

“You’re done already?” Zuko said, instinctively matching her tone. The other guys were making a ruckus on the other end of the kitchen, out of earshot. Zuko looked at them, and then back up at Terashi, catching the tail end of her shrug.

“I just wanted to say,” Terashi said, smirking ruefully, “ _My bad_.”

Zuko looked away, skin prickling. He knew her haircut comment was not meant maliciously, but he remembered how his sister crowed about their father’s plans to shave his head. Show the world his dishonor in battle.

“It’s okay.” Zuko said, concentrating on pushing down the vegetable skins to make room for the remainder, “I should get it cut anyway.”

Terashi sighed above him, a little tired, a little something else. She tugged at his sleeve, and he dragged his eyes up to meet hers.

“This is between us alright?” Terashi said, eyes gone soft, distant, “But I had my head shaved once, a long time ago.”

Zuko felt his eyes widen in disbelief. Terashi hunkered down a little, resting her chin on the ball of her palm. She said, “You can ask me why.”

Zuko nodded wordlessly.

She smiled, “A long time ago I was…not a good person. I did a lot of things I’m not proud of, and eventually I was caught. It’s a long story, and maybe I’ll tell you the whole thing one day. For now I’ll say I owe your uncle a great debt, more than I could ever repay. He saved me from rotting away in a hole somewhere. Compared to that, a few months of shame was a price I paid, gladly.”

Zuko didn’t know what to say. Terashi seemed to understand that, letting the silence settle like a steam bath.

Eventually, he said, “So we’re kinda the same then.” And that was a strangely comfortable thought, that she knew what it meant to be a person who didn’t truly belong to anyone. Who lived on the borrowed kindness of others.

“No.” Terashi said, “Brat, put that down for a second and look at me.”

Zuko almost didn’t want to just to be contrary, but he did. She sighed.

“Everything I ever got I deserved,” She said gently, “So no, I don’t think that we’re the same at all.”

Terashi tapped her chopsticks together, feeling four pairs of eyes staring at her with varying levels of interest. With her other hand she pinched a lime wedge between her fingers, spreading the juice evenly across the surface of the broth.

She wet her lips, stifling a smile as the princeling fairly vibrated with impatience across her. There seemed to be a consensus for Terashi to take the first bite despite royal protocol.

A good scoopful of noodles piled onto the porcelain soup spoon, topped with a bit of meat, a couple of fragrant green onion pieces. Dipped into the bowl so that the soup covered the bite, steam rising dreamily, dancing around her fingers.

She chewed. She swallowed.

Tien Ho rolled his eyes, “Well?”

She met the princeling’s eyes, and who knew a tiny scarred twitchy _child_ would be her undoing. And he would be one way or another, she could feel it in her bones, deep in the marrow of her.

“It’s good.” She said.

The dream was always the same.

A shout in the dark, and then a rushing downwards, avalanching into the depths of the earth.

It was like drowning and yet nothing like being underwater. The dirt crumbled into his ears, his nose, the corners of his desperate scrunched up eyes.

He’d give his crown for water, he’d give his kingdom for air. He moaned, or screamed. His ribs expanded and into his lungs filled earth and blood and whatever squirming things made their home in his grave.

Once, he heard his mother’s voice calling his name. _Lu Ten_ , she said, _Lu Ten I’m here_. But when he turned to catch a glimpse of her, she was gone.

Sometimes he wept, frustrated at his cringing mind, the wine-stain terror he felt he could never be rid of. Other times he blinked blearily up at his ceiling until dawn, jerking awake every other moment in fear of the dream.

It was not every night, thank Agni. He didn’t know how he’d survive if it was.

“You look like shit.” Terashi said, happily accompanying him to the market instead of, as she put it, to such-and-such meeting with who-the-fuck-cared.

“Thanks,” Lu Ten said. He felt like shit. “You always do know what to say.”

His father had seemed almost relieved when Lu Ten finally broke down and requested a day off. He’d then gone on to send Lu Ten to the lower town with Terashi and a long list of errands, ordering both of them to stay out of the palace until nightfall.

Now, Terashi smiled sunnily at him, an expression that belonged on her face as much as it did a rabid jackal-wolf, “It’s my womanly charm.”

Lu Ten huffed a tired laugh, shifting his pack more comfortably on his back. They were disguised as common folk, hiding their armor under simple robes and head-coverings. Lu Ten had even shaved for the occasion, and he’d looked miles younger despite the dark bruises under his eyes from a row of fitful nights.

Terashi had rouged her lips a youthful pink, lined her eyes and put clips in her short hair. Like that she looked small and sweet and thoroughly unassuming to anyone who didn’t know the sheer number of sharp objects on her person.

“You look nice,” Lu Ten said, slanting a glance at Terashi. Terashi fluttered her eyelashes. She tilted her head, pointing at herself as if to say, _Who, me?_

The market was alive with shouting vendors, haggling housewives, the myriad reds and oranges of their everyday people.

“Let’s see that list,” Terashi murmured, leaning against his arm to peer down at the parchment.

They stood like that for long moments, jostled by the ebb and flow of the impatient crowd. Someone bumped too hard into them, and Lu Ten reached out to steady her around the waist to keep her from falling into him.

“My hero,” Terashi said, eyes dancing like she was laughing at him, but not unkindly. There was nothing warm about the hard jut of her armor beneath her skirts, but he kept his hand pressed there anyway.

Tea for his dad, a set of throwing knives for Zuko, a variety of random items that sent them up and down the winding stalls. Half these things he was almost certain were there just to mess with him, but he couldn’t be sure which half.

“Ten coins is too much, old man,” Terashi said, weighing the bag of beads in her hands. “How about I give you five, and you throw in those pair of long needles?” The vendor scowled at her, eyebrows drawn together like thunderclouds.

Lu Ten almost stepped in. It wasn’t as though they were strapped for coin. But he’d learned early on that it wasn’t the money, more so the triumph of getting a sale. He always paid full price when Terashi’s back was turned, and she let him get away with it with only a little mocking.

“You’re off your gourd,” The vendor growled, “These beads are made with the finest shell glass. You couldn’t find quality like this if you went all the way to Ma’inka Island itself.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Terashi said amiably, “Five coins, or I walk.”

The vendor glared, “Nine.”

“Six.”

“Eight. And I’ll give you your damn needles.”

“Deal.” Terashi said, beckoning at Lu Ten to hand over the money. Lu Ten gave him the eight. He really didn’t like the way the man was looking at Terashi.

The vendor muttered something vile under his breath as he snatched the coin out of Lu Ten’s hand. Lu Ten blinked, then glared.

“What did you call her?” Lu Ten growled, stopped only by Terashi’s hand on his elbow.

Terashi leaned past him and into the vendor’s space, smiling very sweetly, and with all her teeth. Whatever was in her eyes made the vendor lean away, eyes widening, throat bobbing visibly as he gulped.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Terashi said, still smiling, and then turned and motioned for Lu Ten to follow.

Terashi was inspecting her beads when Lu Ten caught up with her. In spite of the vendor’s nasty disposition, his beads were definitely as beautiful as advertised.

“Didn’t take you for a seamstress,” Lu Ten said, letting her drop the pouch and the set of needles into his hand.

“They’re not for me,” Terashi said, “They’re for the princeling.”

Lu Ten beamed, “I knew it. You’re a sap. What’s he need beads for?”

“Deep-diving.” Terashi said. The gleam in her eye promised fun things for her, and the opposite for Zuko. Lu Ten shook his head, sending a silent apology to his cousin for unknowingly aiding and abetting whatever new torture Terashi had in store for him.

“Do you even know if he can swim?”

“If he can’t, he will.”

Lu Ten gave her a look, but dropped it. The fact was that Zuko _could_ swim. They’d spent hazy summers at their beach house at Ember Island, the only time he’d ever seen his uncle and aunt resemble anything like a family. Zuko loved the water, instinctively buoyant the way children knew how to float, cutting through the shallow end of the lake in long lazy laps.

Maybe Lu Ten would find a moment to steal him away sometime soon. Go out to the water and be children again. They were so busy these days with meetings and training and barely enough time to be together like those long unscheduled first weeks of Lu Ten’s return.

“Do _you_ know how to swim?” Terashi said, looking at him with critical eyes.

“You’ve seen me swim.” Lu Ten said, affronted.

She laughed, “I’ve seen you flail.”

They finally stopped for lunch at a hawker stall. The sun was already sinking low in the sky, and Lu Ten’s stomach whined with neglect, eliciting no small amount of teasing from Terashi.

Terashi watched their food being prepared so closely Lu Ten was afraid they’d insult the stall auntie, and then insisted on taking the first bite of both.

“Ladies first,” Terashi said, batting away his chopsticks with her own as she chewed and swallowed, “Be patient, young one.”

Lu Ten smiled tersely. The seconds ticked by, and when she didn’t keel over and die, she handed his chopsticks back to him. They didn’t talk about it.

“You two are such a cute couple,” The hawker lady said when she stopped by their table to refill their drinks, “And so handsome too. Your children are going to be beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Terashi said bashfully, holding a hand up delicately to her cheek, “I keep telling him, don’t be shy, knock me up! But he’s scared of being a father.”

 _What the fuck,_ Lu Ten mouthed behind the hawker lady’s back, slipping back into a smile when she turned around.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, young man,” she said, admonishingly, “Fatherhood is the most noble of pursuits. And you have to start now if you want to have as many as possible.”

“Your advice is duly noted,” Lu Ten said, straight-faced, wondering what the hawker lady’s reaction would be if she knew who she was scolding, “We’ll get started…right away.”

“Hmph,” The lady said, seemingly satisfied, she turned back to Terashi, placing a hand over Terashi’s, “Now you come back sometime and I’ll give you my old recipes from when I had my own babies. You know, if you put some ginger under your bed during the coupling, the higher the chance you’ll be blessed with a boy…”

“Song Hwa, don’t look now but doesn’t that guy look like the prince?” Jun said, nudging his friend as discretely as he could.

“What guy?” Song said, swivelling his head around like a desert owl. Jun rolled his eyes, kicking Song Hwa under the table.

“I said _don’t look_ ,” Jun hissed.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Song said contemplatively when he finally got a _discrete_ glimpse of the man in question, “Doesn’t the prince have a beard?”

“He could’ve shaved,” Jun said, “Okay, shit, the girl that’s with him totally caught us looking. No, don’t do that you’re being _obvious._ ”

“Look, don’t look,” Song grumbled, poking at the remains of his meal, “Make up your mind.”

The hawker auntie passed their table just then. She gave both of them the stink-eye, even though they’d been loyal customers all their lives and knew her, her children, and grandchildren by name.

“If you’re finished eating, you should let other customers have your table,” The hawker auntie said pointedly, stacking their cups without bothering to check if they’d finished their meal, “You’ve been here long enough.”

“Aw auntie Lin, we just got here,” Song wheedled, “You wouldn’t turn away your favourite customers?”

“I don’t see any of those kinds here,” Lin said firmly, but softened a little at Song’s pout, “Fine, fine. Don’t look at me like that. How’s your mom doing?”

As they talked, Jun couldn’t help but look back at the alleged prince and his companion. The likelihood that the actual prince of the Fire Nation was eating at a common noodle stall was very low, but even so.

“Jun, where are you going?” Song said as Jun pulled himself to his feet, using the table to balance himself as he retrieved his crutches. Jun ignored him, an almost wild pull urging him forward. The two looked up at him as he came to a stop at their table, and suddenly he didn’t know what to say.

“Can we help you?” The prince’s companion said, and for some reason a chill ran down Jun’s spine. The prince’s companion had seemed small and unassuming from where Jun had been sitting, but up close her gaze was hard, boring into him as if taking note of all the ways she could take him apart.

“Don’t mind her,” The prince said, smiling up at Jun, “If you haven’t eaten, I would be happy to get you something? This stall is very nice, I highly recommend it.”

Jun had been eating at this stall since he was five, but that wasn’t the point. He took a deep breath. If he was mistaken and it wasn’t the prince, then he was in for some intense mockery when he got back to Song. But if it was the prince, then he’d spend the rest of his life kicking himself for missing an opportunity.

He bowed. His crutches got in the way of it, and he almost lost his balance on the leg that hadn’t been amputated, “Prince Lu Ten, forgive my impudence, but please accept my humblest gratitude on behalf of my family.”

When a long moment had passed, and he hadn’t been assassinated by the prince’s royal guard, Jun hazarded a peek at the prince.

The man’s eyes were wide, like he didn’t know what to say. He looked at his companion, then looked at Jun, his jaw working silently. Finally he said, “Please, lift your head.”

Jun did. His palms were clammy around his crutches, beads of sweat rolling into his collar. The prince, because surely that was who he was, straightened in his chair, blinking out of his initial shock. He exchanged a look with his companion, who rolled her eyes but got out of her chair. She gestured for Jun to take her seat, and when he hesitated, glared at him until he did.

“How’d you know who I was?” Prince Lu Ten said quietly, then smiled, “I was so proud of my disguise too.”

“It’s very good sir,” Jun said, not daring to look the prince right in the eye, “We’ve met before. I mean, not personally um. You visited my platoon once.”

The prince’s gaze darted down to Jun’s missing leg, “I see,” said the prince, “Then truly, it should be I who should be expressing gratitude to your service.”

“It was an honor, sir,” Jun said, with feeling, “I was retired half-way through the siege, but my friends told me what happened at…what happened.”

“I’m still not sure of that myself,” The prince said, a touch sheepishly, “But that story really went around huh.”

“It’s not a bad story, sir.” Jun stammered. And he could have ended the conversation there because it was already crazy enough sitting and talking to the prince as if the prince was just _some guy_. But, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Yes, yeah, of course,” The prince said, smiling encouragingly, “I mean, permission granted or whatever.”

Jun took a breath, and dared to lift his eyes up, “I’m sorry if I overstep but I know there’s been…unhappiness, that you and the Fire Lord are ending the war,” And wow, good job Jun, treason was definitely a great topic, and if the prince asked who exactly was unhappy, then Jun would have to _lie._ A missing leg would probably be nothing after that.

But the prince didn’t look angry, only nodded, smiling a little wryly at Jun, “Yeah, I got that sense.”

“I don’t,” Jun said, then swallowed, “I mean, I’m not unhappy. You saved my little brother.”

And there, that was the thing that propelled Jun from the safety of his table to a man he had only been mostly sure was the real thing. Jun had seen the war for himself, and thinking about his brother, his _eighteen-year-old brother,_ having to go through the same thing kept him up at night.

“Your brother,” The prince said, looking at Jun intently, “He was supposed to go out with Ozai’s draft?”

Jun nodded grimly. When the draft had arrived, the one that would send underaged boys out into the frontlines to die, his brother was the first to be recruited. If Lu Ten hadn’t returned when he did, if Iroh didn’t retake the crown, his brother would be dead by now or worse.

“Thank you,” The prince said finally, and in an act that froze Jun to the core, reached over and extended his hand out to Jun, “What you’ve said to me…I’ll treasure it. It means more to me than you know.”

Jun nodded numbly, and slowly raised his hand out to mirror the prince’s. Prince Lu Ten unhesitatingly clasped Jun’s forearm in a warrior’s handshake, gripping him firmly as if he was an equal.

“Time to go,” The prince’s companion said, materializing next to Jun as if by magic. Jun jumped, letting go of the prince. “You’ve drawn yourself quite an audience.”

Jun looked around and guiltily realized a small crowd had gathered to watch them. The prince waved cheerily at the onlookers, before being jerked to standing by his companion.

“Thanks again, Jun,” Prince Lu Ten said as he was being dragged away, “May we meet again. Say hi to your brother for me!”

Jun thought he heard the prince’s companion mutter something like, _oh my fucking spirits._ But he couldn’t be sure.

_Azula, what are you doing?_

“Shut up, mother,” Azula hissed, watching as her stupid big brother rolled around like an idiot with his latest babysitter – the lumbering oaf called Rou. Her latest note burned in her pocket, ready to be tucked in his second favourite coat. Honestly, she could have killed him a hundred times over by now with the lack of _competency_ he was surrounded with.

_Azula, be nice to your brother._

“I am being nice,” She complained under her breath, “He’s alive, isn’t he? Alive enough to have that stupid smile on his dumb face.”

“Are you talking to me?” Mai said, her voice coming from somewhere below her.

Azula scowled down at her subordinate’s half-lidded eyes. Fire crackled impatient under her skin, but she was not a fool, and could hold her temper.

“No,” Azula snapped quietly, “What is it?”

“Lord Akashi is sending out a messenger hawk,” Mai sighed, “He’s asking if you have a report.”

A report meant extraction, extraction meant returning to Omashu, and to father. Azula flicked her eyes to her brother, to his grin that she could see even from her hiding spot. She’d never seen that look on his face before, not since mother abandoned them. It made her furious.

_Azula_

“Tell him that when I have a report, he’ll know,” Azula said dismissively, her heart thudding in her chest for no discernable reason, “He’s an impatient fool, who almost gave himself away this morning.”

“Understood.” Mai said, in that bored, dry way of hers, and in between one moment and the next, was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill. Follow me @longly on twitter or @augustmonsoon on tumblr. I have to get up for work in 6 hours but I regret nothing and I love you all. I'm going to try to get out the final chapter of this arc by November, so here's hoping the inspiration train hits me before then!


	5. Hide and Shriek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Why do you hate him so much?_
> 
> Azula choked back a hysterical bark of laughter at the question. She had lost everything, and Zuko had gained everything. She was the prodigy, the chosen one; his name literally meant _failure_. Yin was knocked out of yang. The balance of the world was grievously out of order. He needed to be broken, to understand his place in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOVEMBER!! This chapter sat at 4000 words all month, and then suddenly it was up to 11k and I have to break it down into six chapters instead of the five I thought it would be. Anyway, here is 22 more pages of existential crisis Zuko, doting Lu Ten, the usual crew, and a little more Azula because I am getting over my very valid fear of her and she is allowing herself to be written. 
> 
> The next chapter will be the final one for this arc, and it will come before 2021. I am putting this in writing where, hopefully, it manifests into the universe. Thank you SO MUCH for all your kudos and comments, I am bowled away by all your kind words and head-canons.

“Hide and shriek,” The princeling repeated warily, “So you want me to hide, and then when you come close, I’m supposed to scare you?”

“It’s what I said, didn’t I?” Terashi said, sprawled against the steps of the main courtyard.

The princeling looked at her and then looked back at the palace, still standing loosely at attention. She tilted her head up to the sun and waited for him to either go or say what he wanted to say.

“This isn’t a thing where I hide and then you forget about me, is it?” The princeling said at last.

Terashi’s heart clenched in her chest without her permission, damned kid was making her soft.

She dropped her chin to look at him, “That happen to you before?”

The princeling’s silence was answer enough. She sighed and tilted her head back up.

“Well, fuck ‘em.” She said decisively, “That’s a bitch move. Do I look like a bitch to you?”

“…no?”

“Then do you think I’d pull a bitch move?”

“Fine, I get it.” The princeling grumbled like the little snot he was, “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“I’ll say it however I want,” Terashi said, “You better pick a good spot to hide, brat. If I find you too quickly, I’m gonna make you do hot-squats till the evening meal.”

“Ughhh,” She heard him say before the sound of his footsteps receded.

The princeling was getting better at hiding but he was still so, so predictable.

“Stop laughing,” The kid said, red-faced, his voice echoing in the dim underground wine vault, “It’s what you told me to do!”

“I said hide-and-shriek, not hide-and- _squeak_.” Terashi howled, leaning a hand on the princeling’s shoulder to hold herself up, “What _was_ that?”

“Stoooppp,” The princeling said again, heart-felt, but didn’t pull away from Terashi’s touch. He was still a little damp from where he’d wedged himself in between the wine barrels. She would have teasingly accused him of helping himself while he was down there if Zuko wasn’t such a goody-goody.

“How come you know this place anyway?” Terashi asked, trailing an idle hand over a line of barrels. It was cold down here, and humid. It reminded her of too early dawns deep in Earth kingdom forests, of exhaling plumey clouds and feeling the damp all the way into her bones.

“Why wouldn’t I?” grumbled the little prince through gritted teeth, “This is my home.”

Terashi lifted an eyebrow in mute surprise. She hadn’t thought he would get so testy.

A tremor rippled slightly through his skinny frame, and his jaw, clenched in what she had thought was irritation, quivered slightly. This was not anger, she realized. He was cold. She slid her hand across the prince’s back and tucked him close to her body as they made their way back to the sunlight and pretended not to notice him shivering against her ribs.

The problem was, it took a lot for dragons to get cold. Their bodies were made for flight, but unlike the now extinct sky bisons, they did not require fur to regulate their temperatures. The royal family were said to be the closest descendants of the original dragons that once ruled the sky. Zuko should be no exception. And yet.

“Oh Agni,” Terashi said, pretending to wipe away a tear, hiding her disquiet, “Okay, okay, I’ll admit that was a pretty good hiding spot. Now let’s see if you can do it again.”

She made him hide three more times, with the caveat not to go underground again. He protested about it being too easy for her to find him if he was in broad daylight, but she was practiced in ignoring princes. Especially the snack-sized ones.

Each time it got a little harder to find him, but every time she did, he would get stage-fright or something and would barely make a sound close to a shriek.

The third time she found him, he didn’t even bother. She looked up and crossed her arms pointedly at him.

“Hey,” He said hanging upside-down from the rafters, his legs hooked around its planks, “I mean. Ahhh...”

“This a game to you, kid?” Terashi said, impressed despite herself that he’d gotten so high in so short a time.

“Isn’t it?” The princeling asked, copying her pose. He made to heave himself back up but stopped at Terashi’s sharp _ah-ah-ah._

“Stay there,” Terashi said, and the princeling let go of his knees to swing back upside-down, “Feel the blood rushing to your head? Maybe it’ll help you think a little more.”

“About what?” The princeling said warily.

“Why are we doing this today?” Terashi asked, “What’s the purpose? If you say _I don’t know_ I’m going to find rat-viper boogers and use your face as target practice.”

“Why would you say that?” The princeling moaned, “Are you even a girl?”

“You know what I am,” Terashi said dismissively, “Now concentrate, why are we doing this today?”

“Because you’re an evil genius who wants to see me suffer?” The kid said despondently.

“Well, yes,” Terashi admitted, grinning a little, “But you know that’s not why.”

The kid scowled. Terashi almost wished there was a portrait master on hand to capture the moment. She was sure the Fire Lord and Crown Prince would pay good money for the likeness.

“It’s…to help me hide better?” The princeling said at last, “And I guess, if I thought the enemy was probably going to find me, I should like, scare them or something so I could run away?”

That was a decent answer. Terashi almost let it go, when the kid took a breath and continued.

“And I think, um, I’m getting better at sensing people.” He mumbled, like he thought Terashi was going to laugh at him.

“Sensing people how.” She said, sharply interested; definitely not laughing.

The kid closed his eyes in thought, “Um, kind of like, if I concentrate, I can feel when people are nearby, and some people feel different from other people? Can I come down now? I’m getting dizzy.”

“Finish your explanation first, and then we’ll talk,” Terashi said ruthlessly, although she stepped closer just in case the kid actually did fall, “How do you sense people in a room without looking at them?”

“People make noise most of the time, but differently,” The kid said, his eyebrows furrowed, “I always know when Lu Ten’s around because he walks really loud, but also kinda bouncy, and he leans on his right foot a little more. Uncle walks really quietly, but he’s heavy. And oh! They’re warm.”

“Warm?”

The kid looked like he was regretting all his decisions.

“Do you need to throw up?” Terashi asked clinically.

“No.”

“Good. Warm how?”

Zuko cracked one exasperated eye open, “I don’t know. Alive?”

Huh. So the kid hadn’t completely lost his inner flame after all.

“Excellent observation, kid,” Terashi said, relief making what was supposed to be a glib praise, effusive. The princeling blinked at her, actually pinking at the approval like the sweet wholesome fucker he was, “Alright, you can come down before you get stuck like that.”

“If I do, it’s your fault,” The kid groused, but swung himself up easily and used the beams to get himself back to the ground, adding a back-flip to his landing that Terashi just raised an eyebrow at. A couple of weeks with Rou and kid acted like he was auditioning for the circus. 

“C’mon,” Terashi said, clapping him the shoulder, “I have an idea. We’re going to the bath-house, and you can tell me how many girls are in it without looking.”

“Can I just do hotsquats?” The princeling said, paling.

“Nope,” Terashi said, grabbing him around the middle to lift him bodily through the palace, then, “…ooh yeah, _there’s_ the shriek I was talking about.”

“I am filled with regret,” Zuko declared without so much as a hello, “Life is darkness and pain.”

“That’s rough, buddy,” Lu Ten said fondly, trying not to laugh, “Good day with Terashi?”

Zuko pouted, possibly at the lack of real sympathy, but turned to give Terashi her customary bow. Lu Ten raised an eyebrow at her as Zuko’s grumbling followed him into the palace.

“Kid’s got talent, I’m just…using creative ways to pull it out,” Terashi said, hiding her smirk not at all.

“You’re having too much fun,” Lu Ten said dryly.

“No such thing,” Terashi said, hand to her heart, swaying, “I am but a simple pawn in the hands of my superiors, willing to do my sworn duty to the crown.”

“Way too much fun,” Lu Ten repeated, shaking his head.

They turned to see that Iroh, waiting for them just beyond the doors, had caught the unwitting prince by the shoulders. His cousin squawked into his father’s warm embrace, but Lu Ten could tell Zuko was pleased by this rare attention. Father had been absent lately, not by choice but grim necessity. The weight of the crown his father bore without complaint. Lu Ten could only hope that when it came to him, he would in turn bear it so.

He moved to join his cousin and father but Terashi ducked in close, touching his elbow with two fingers. Her faint smile gave nothing away, but for the slight tensing in her eyes. She slipped past him through the doors, wordless, but he knew to follow at a clip.

“He’s in pain,” Terashi murmured, dropping her voice so that only Lu Ten could hear her. He tensed, eyes sliding worriedly to his little cousin who was blushing heavily through a stuttered, probably greatly censored, recount of his day.

“Is it–” Lu Ten gestured awkwardly over the left side of his face. Zuko’s wound bothered him once in a while, but his cousin never complained about it. Lu Ten, captain of the grin-and-bear-it team, wondered who taught Zuko to grit-and-bear-it instead.

Terashi shook her head, the almost silent swish of her cropped nape shushing against the high collar of her armor. She was due for a haircut soon, the hair along the parts of her head she shaved sticking out in soft tufts over her ears. It was her version of lazing about; and well, perhaps a slower life of keeping an eye on princes was, compared to all her experiences, like a little holiday.

“Of course not,” She said sharply, slowing deliberately to keep his father and cousin out of earshot, “You’re not that stupid.”

Lu Ten tamped down on his instinctual irritation, the spike of anger he knew was not really directed at her. They swung into an alcove, the last traces of dusk lashing across the palace like streamers of gold. It caught Terashi’s sharp jaw, the curl of her thin lips, the burnt umber of her narrow eyes.

“I’m not going to force him.” He said, “You know what it’s like for him.”

“I don’t.” Terashi countered, her glare turning cool, “I wouldn’t presume to, sir. But I know him now, and what he doesn’t need is coddling.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Lu Ten said, and tried to remember why, “It’s killing me too, seeing him like that, but it’s not up to me.”

She smiled and said, almost scornfully, “Oh, alright then. Just so I’m clear, we’re just going to just stand there and let him die?”

“Watch yourself,” Lu Ten snapped, taking an unconscious step towards her. She stared at him unimpressed until he took a deep breath and subsided. He passed a hand over his eyes, and some of his hopelessness bled into his voice as he said, “I– well. I don’t know what to do.”

His eyes still shut, he heard Terashi huff a quiet profanity. _No swears_ , he thought in his cousin’s voice, and despite himself, had to bite back a near hysterical laugh.

It seemed that Terashi’s campaign was not done. The next Rotation Meeting, she marched into the room like a woman with a purpose and tossed a stack of scrolls on Lu Ten’s desk. He grabbed them before they could unroll over and onto the floor.

“No more fucking around,” Terashi announced severely, turning her gaze at Tien Ho and Rou, “Kid is running outta time.”

“Is it the princess?” Rou said, concerned. Tien Ho, ever the shrewder of the two, just looked at her with mute understanding in his dark eyes.

“A little more pressing than that,” Lu Ten said, conceding the point at last, which Terashi had the grace to accept with nothing more than a tight nod, “It’s to do with his firebending.”

Rou still looked a little confused, “His firebending?”

Surprisingly, of all of them, Rou spent the least amount of time with Zuko. When Lu Ten wasn’t with his cousin, he was in meetings. When he was in meetings, Rou was in meetings.

“He can but he doesn’t,” Tien Ho said, leaning forward to snag a scroll from the top of the pile, “Or at least, not where we can see him.”

And they always saw him, that was how the rotation worked. Zuko was never out of their sight for longer than it was safe to be. Not while the princess lurked in the shadows, and Ozai schemed undeterred by his banishment.

“Not even meditating?” Rou said, leaning over to read Tien Ho’s scroll over the slender man’s shoulder, “Oh I haven’t seen these techniques since I was six.”

“These were,” Lu Ten said, and hesitated, the words: _the last scroll he mastered before the Agni Kai_ felt like a betrayal. It was an open secret that the third heir was not going to be the greatest firebender in the royal family. Vicious gossips would say he wouldn’t even rank among the lowborns. 

Rou seemed to get it anyway, “There’s no shame in taking the time to learn something.” He said firmly, reaching over for a scroll of his own, “The most important things are the basics anyway.”

“I hear the princess Azula’s a prodigy,” Terashi said, crossing to perch herself on the armrest next to Tien Ho, “That couldn’t have been easy either.”

Lu Ten thought of the way his cousin-sister’s eyes had glowed greenish behind her blue fire and swallowed. Not easy indeed. “I wouldn’t even know how to bring it up.” He admitted, staring at the table instead of looking his friends in the eye like the coward he was.

“Fuck,” Terashi muttered, but she didn’t disagree, “Well I can’t do it, I’m not a bender.”

“I was taught in state school.” Tien Ho said with a half-shrug when Lu Ten threw him a questioning look.

“Nothing wrong with state school.” Lu Ten said firmly.

“Didn’t say there was,” Tien Ho said, “It would be beneath him – it wouldn’t be right.”

There was, possibly, a thousand things wrong about that sentence. The idea that there existed systems in the Fire Nation that purposefully kept the lower classes less than those above them. But that was a matter of deep systemic change that Lu Ten was exhausted even thinking about, and wouldn’t help their current more pressing situation.

“I can’t,” Lu Ten forced himself to say before anyone could ask, “It would be too hard to…too personal. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Terashi said, her tone gentling from what it had been before, “It wouldn’t help him, if you were affected like that.”

“Thanks,” Lu Ten said, smiling humorlessly, “That makes me feel so much better.”

“I could try,” Rou said before Terashi could say something cutting in return. He didn’t look too optimistic about it, “I was given noble training, but I’m no master.”

“Right now, even getting him to meditate with a candle would help,” Lu Ten said, “Anything to take the edge off.”

“What does the Fire Lord think about this?” Tien Ho said, looking up from the forms and figures on the page, “Surely there’re people better equipped for such a thing.”

“I don’t know,” Lu Ten admitted, “He hasn’t been around much lately, and I haven’t had a chance to really talk to him about it.”

What dad had really said was _Son, I trust you to do the right thing_. And left it at that. Sometimes his dad could be very…dad about things. Lu Ten wanted to bang his head against a wall, but there was a comfort, cold as it was, that his dad didn’t think the situation was dire enough to step in.

“So it’s up to us,” Terashi said, gesturing at Tien Ho for one of the scrolls, using it to point to each of them as she listed: “A non-bender, a peasant, lord clueless over here, and prince hands-off-like-a-pussy-approach.”

“Great,” Tien Ho said, apparently unphased at being labeled a peasant even as Rou and Lu Ten made identical noises of indignation, “I think this is going to go. So well.”

“You…do?” Rou said after a hesitant pause.

Tien Ho rolled his eyes.

“No thank you,” Zuko said politely, hands clasped neatly behind his back, mouth neutral.

Rou paused. Looked at the scroll in his hand, looked back at Zuko.

“It’s not really an option–”

“No. Thank you.” Zuko said again, sharply, even as his posture remained deferential.

“Alright.” Rou sighed, tucking the scroll back into his belt, “We could go to the library instead?”

“Yes please.”

“No bitching,” Terashi said, slamming a candle down in front of him, “Sit. Breathe. Do whatever shit you do when you’re supposed to be meditating.”

Zuko scowled but sat, legs folding over, crossed at the ankles. She lit the candle and glared at him for the time it took for half of it to melt, only to realize she didn’t actually know if the flame was dancing on its own, or if he was meditating like he was supposed to.

“Fuck _this_ ,” She said aggravatedly, and reached over to extinguish the flame with her fingers, “Fucking stubborn princes.”

At Zuko’s cool look, she narrowed her eyes at him, “A hundred hot squats. And then we try this again.”

“Gladly.” Zuko said, and stomped off to do them. 

Tien Ho inspected Zuko’s stitches, turning the doll this way and that as he surveyed Zuko’s patch job.

“Not bad,” He said finally, remembering to smile at the little prince. Smiles counted as encouragement, his sisters had drummed into his head, after he’d let it slip that he was teaching the prince. They refused to believe the possibility he could be a half-decent teacher, especially not when he had a reputation for making apprentices cry their first day.

“You’re not…” Zuko started, then stopped, looking uncomfortable. He’d been like that all day, like he was expecting the other shoe to drop.

“Not your greatest either,” Tien Ho said, ignoring him, “See here? The stuffing’s lopsided in the legs, and if I turn this thing around…yep, there’s a little hole where the beads are falling out. It’s not the end of the world to be distracted while you’re patching up a toy, but if you’re working with real people you have to pay attention.”

“Sorry,” Zuko said, and to his credit, he did look a little shame-faced.

“Don’t be sorry,” Tien Ho said, waiting for Zuko to meet his eyes before passing the doll back to him, “Be better.”

Zuko undid his stitches and started again. They worked in silence for a while until Zuko seemed to finally work up the nerve to say: “But what if…this is the best I can do?”

He wasn’t talking about the doll. Tien Ho shook out the kimono he was working on, smoothing out the fabric so that the pattern gleamed in the sunlight. Gold trim on the sleeves, pink and white thread for sakura petals. Hours upon hours of delicate work, but not even as close to being as complicated as people.

“ _Is_ it the best you can do?” Tien Ho said.

Zuko shrugged unhappily, “What if it is?”

Tien Ho huffed out a breath, folding the kimono back towards him to continue the embroidery, “If you can truly, honestly, say that it is. I believe you.” He glanced up to see Zuko blinking very hard at the doll, “But I know you can do better. I’ve seen it.”

“Maybe,” Zuko said, quiet, overfull, “I don’t know.”

It was rare to see the Fire Lord in more than bits and pieces these days, and so it was a surprise to hear a knock on the door and for Iroh’s voice to ask to be admitted. Zuko dug at his eyelids, rubbing sleep away as hard as he could as Iroh made himself comfortable at his side.

“…And master Piandao taught me how to do a wall run,” Zuko said, tiredness forgotten in his rush to fill uncle in on what had been missed while uncle had been out being important and doing Fire Lord things, “Tomorrow he’s going to let me do them while holding my dāo.”

“A formidable combination,” Iroh said seriously, placing a fond hand over Zuko’s head, “I have heard many wonderful things from your teachers on your progress. They seem to be very proud of you, as am I, always.”

Zuko ducked his head, the almost painful squeeze of pleasure at the words making his cheeks warm. It was nice, unbearably so, to be surrounded so constantly with kindness. Whatever happened in the future, he hoped that he remembered this feeling.

Iroh let out a breath, and the atmosphere in the room quietly shifted. Zuko stiffened, on his guard before he realized what was happening. Of course, how could he have thought he could avoid this. He forced himself to stay silent, looking at his knees shifting silently under the bedclothes. He owed his uncle that much at least, to listen to whatever came next even as his mind reached for any excuse not to be having this conversation.

“Prince Zuko, look at me.” Iroh gently commanded. Zuko did, and there was no recrimination in his uncle’s eyes, only love, and a strength that Zuko could only dream of possessing.

“It’s not that I won’t,” Zuko said without meaning to, “It’s that I _can’t._ Uncle I’ve tried. So hard. I don’t know where it went.” His voice wobbled towards the end, and he had to stop before he did something embarrassing like burst into tears.

Uncle looked a little heartbroken at that, which was not Zuko’s intention at all. He hated that he’d put that look on uncle’s face.

“I’m sorry if I disappointed you,” Zuko said, almost soundlessly, looking at where his fingers wrung together in a little knot, “I’m pretty disappointed in me.”

“Zuko,” Uncle said, “No. You could never disappoint me.”

And yup, there were those tears he’d been trying to hold back. Zuko felt them gathering at the corners of his eyes. There was salt at the back of his throat, thick and gritty. His nose burned.

“Everyone keeps trying to make me,” Zuko said, hating how small his voice was, how small it made him sound and feel, “If I could I would, I swear.”

“And they would all love you the same if you never did again,” Uncle said, placing a firm hand over Zuko’s, “As would I. But it is not a question of ability, but of your wellbeing. A firebender is not meant to live without.”

“What?” Zuko said, genuinely confused.

“Agni,” Iroh said, the name coming out like a swear, “Has no one explained this to you? Zuko, a bender deprived of their element is deprived of a core part of their being. The lack of is a physical loss, like being without a limb, or without one of your senses.”

Zuko clenched his hands into fists so they would not reach up to touch the left side of his face. The eye that could barely see, and the partially muffled ear. He knew what it was to be without, but he’d attributed how horrible he’d been feeling to the wound, and not the loss of his flame.

“It hurts,” He said out loud. A revelation. Uncle nodded, and in the flickering light of the room the lines on his face seemed more pronounced, and Zuko could see how tired he was. How much older the crown had lined the warmth of his face with fatigue.

“Your inner flame is strong,” Uncle said, the undercurrent of conviction so strong Zuko was forced to believe it, “You suffered a heart wound, and it requires a different outlet to draw from. It is essential for you to find it once more.”

Zuko took a deep breath. It hurt sure, but whatever preventing him from reaching his inner flame hurt more right now. He peered up at his uncle, and said, “Can it…wait? Just a little bit more?”

Zuko winced, waiting for the no. The _act like a man and do it_ that surely he deserved. Instead, Uncle just nodded.

“You do what you feel is right, Prince Zuko,” Uncle said, softening. He did not smile, it did not seem like the moment for smiling. But Zuko felt like that was okay, and that Uncle truly trusted him to make his own decision in this. “Whatever you decide, you are not alone.”

“Alright,” Zuko said, and closed his eyes, “Alright.”

The thing that even their mother didn’t understand was that Zuko never hated Azula.

Feared her, yes. The kind of mind-numbing, weak-kneed fear that sunk its fingers into his gut.

He was clumsy with words; it was hard to explain. Survival warred against love, love against reason, reason against the pull of blood that drew him back to her again and again.

But. She had the greatest games, told the best stories, could be, when she wanted to, like the very sun himself. Her attention was a heady thing, bestowed like favours, unpredictable as lightning striking the ground.

That was also why Zuko learned very, very young not to trust Azula with small creatures.

It wasn’t the cruelty, so much as the glee. It was the same look she slanted him that told him that whatever she had in store for him that day was going to _hurt._ At least he came away from those sessions with all his limbs attached. She never bled him on purpose; even their mother, who tolerated Azula to the point of frustration, would never have borne it.

That’s why he was counting the turtle-ducks. Had made it a point to count them at least once a day. There were four adult ones, and ten babies. Two mothers, as far as he could tell, who seemed happy enough to share the comfortable size of his mother’s pond.

This afternoon he counted. Counted again. Took a deep breath and forced himself to count once more, slowly, using his finger to keep track.

“Something wrong sir?” Rou said, the man’s shadow a long shade that cut along the grass. Zuko finished counting before he replied, trying not to panic as once again he came up one short.

“One of the babies is missing,” Zuko said, relieved that his voice didn’t shake, “There should be ten of them.”

“Might have wandered off somewhere?” Rou suggested, which would have rankled if Rou hadn’t genuinely sounded like he was trying to help.

“Might have,” Zuko said tersely. It was nearing his afternoon session with Piandao, and he wouldn’t have time to look for the missing turtle-duckling until sundown. “But they usually stick close to their mom.”

“What can I do to help?” Rou said. Zuko took a bracing breath, and shook his head reluctantly. Things had been a little weird between them ever since Rou approached him with those firebending scrolls, and Zuko had turned down the offer so coldly he could almost feel ice under his tongue. It wasn’t bad, just…distant. Formal.

“I don’t know,” Zuko said, running a hand across his mouth to hide the quiver of his chin, anxiety souring the steamed bun he’d had for breakfast, “It wouldn’t have gotten far on its own.”

On its own, sure. With crazy little sisters around? Agni only knew. What _was_ in that steamed bun anyway? Egg, spices, and some dark meat that he hadn’t thought to ask about.

“Woah, woah,” Rou said, his voice sounding far away, muted as if through a film of water. Rou said something else, but Zuko couldn’t make it out, his head buzzing with nausea and barely tempered fear.

“Zuko.” Rou said, close suddenly, a cautious hand hovering by Zuko’s arm. Zuko blinked out of his haze at the rare sound of his name. The only people who used it was his uncle and his cousin.

The apologetic twist of Rou’s mouth said that Rou knew that, but at least it had broken Zuko from the brink of hyperventilating. The world came back to him sharply, the way his ear popped when he went too deep into the water and had to come up quickly for air.

Zuko grit his teeth and forced his breathing into a more manageable cadence. Somewhere, his sister was watching him and laughing at what a coward he was.

The moment was broken by a faint _quack._ Zuko caught Rou’s eye and put a finger against his mouth. In a silence that seemed to be the world holding its breath, there, up in one of the tree’s thick upper layers, there it was again.

The lowest hanging branch was still way out of Zuko’s reach. He surveyed the tree with a critical eye, thinking of his climbing lessons with Terashi. He could probably make his own handholds from the rough bark. A few splinters wouldn’t be too bad if he could just get to the duckling.

“Or,” Rou said behind him. Zuko turned to see the man crouched to his eye-level, fingers laced together in a handhold. Rou held his serious expression for a couple of seconds before his face relaxed into a goofy grin.

“You wanna?”

Zuko felt a small answering smile press into his cheeks, despite the stress of the afternoon. Maybe they didn’t have to be so distant after all.

“How did it get all the way up there?” Rou said as Zuko hopped up onto Rou’s palms. Rou’s shoulder was warm under his fingers, muscles shifting under his robes as he gripped Zuko’s boot with his large hands.

The answer was crazy, psychopathic, sisters, but Zuko had a feeling that that wouldn’t fly very well with his guardian. Zuko braced himself for the lift, eyes squarely fixed on his target, calculating the height he needed to achieve and the momentum it’d take to make it up safely. He met Rou’s eyes and gave him a nod.

“One, two, and up we go,” Rou said, and boosted Zuko up high enough for Zuko to grab onto one of the thicker branches. In another life, Rou had joked once, he and Zuko must have been a trapeze duo who performed death-defying feats of acrobatics for the adulation of the common-folk. Not this one though. This one had Zuko being tossed ten feet up into the air to catch a baby turtle-duck placed there by a sadistic little sister.

“Did you get ‘er?” Rou called up as Zuko pulled himself higher into the tree. Up there, the leaves became harder to navigate, his arms getting scratched up by the sharper twigs. The quacks were getting more plaintive though, and it was a matter of minutes to find the baby turtle-duck, shaken at being so high up, but unharmed.

“Hey baby,” Zuko murmured, reaching a hand out towards the duckling. The duckling seemed to recognize him, enough that it stuck its neck out a little to nuzzle against his fingers, “You’re a brave one aren’t you? C’mon, I bet your mom misses you.”

The duckling quacked feebly, as if in response, and allowed Zuko to scoop it up into his arms.

“Coming down,” Zuko called as soon as he got the duckling secured.

“Ready when you are, sir.” Rou replied, arms outstretched. Zuko crawled back down, maneuvering awkwardly one-armed as he got into a more open position. He crouched, ready to leap into Rou’s waiting arms, but at the very last second, he hesitated.

It was not that he was afraid of pain. He knew pain, was familiar with it, had grown up with it as much as any friend or family member. It was the anticipation of it that was worse. The creeping doubt that all of this, the peace and unexpected spots of happiness he’d found these past months, was a set-up for a much more painful crash landing.

Irrational. Completely and utterly, and none of his brother’s friends had ever given him reason to doubt them. But then again, so did mom, and that crash landing had been devastating – the hardest of all.

“Everything okay up there?” Rou called up, squinting at him from the ground, as large and solid as ever. The duckling in his arms peeped over what must have looked like an impossible height, and started trembling violently.

Right. It wasn’t just him up there, there was something in his grasp he had sworn to protect. He took a deep bracing breath. After all, it was just pain. And so, just as he was taught, he let himself fall.

Rou caught him easily, tucking him securely into his body as the larger man absorbed his impact. Zuko had just barely put his feet back onto the ground when the duckling’s mother waddled up to them, loudly quacking up at her baby.

The duckling seemed too stunned to do more than quack piteously in reply. Its mother made up for it by fussing over it, shielding it into the fold of her wings with an almost scolding tone as soon as Zuko released it back into her care.

“That was a good catch, finding that duckling like you did,” Rou said, ruffling Zuko’s hair as they watched the little reunion, “You did well, sir.”

“Thanks,” Zuko said, ashamed of having doubted Rou’s intentions, “And thanks for helping.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Rou said grinning, “And in return, you boss us around and make us sweets.”

Zuko silently vowed to do so at the earliest opportunity. Rou had a sweet tooth to rival Lu Ten’s.

“Still, s’strange how it got all the way up there,” Rou said thoughtfully, peering up at the foliage. Zuko froze, frantically trying to think of a plausible explanation.

“It must have been a prey bird,” Rou decided while Zuko’s mind was still blanking out, “Caught the poor thing, and deposited it up there to get at later. We’ll have to assign someone to keep a watch over the gardens in case it happens again.”

“You think?” Zuko said, and spirits was he bad at lying, but at least in this case he was merely agreeing to something instead of making something up on the spot, “That sounds like a boring job.”

“Trust me, compared to the punishments I got as a recruit, this would be nothing,” Rou said, “Much better than holding water buckets over my head all morning.”

“So _that’s_ where master Terashi got the idea,” Zuko said glumly, “My arms are still sore.”

“Terashi did?” Rou said, eyebrows going all the way up into his hairline, “What did you do?”

Zuko scowled even as he felt his face heating up, “I might have asked if she…was on her special woman time yesterday while she was yelling at me.”

“Ah,” Rou said, clasping Zuko on the shoulder sympathetically, “Well we all have to learn one way or the other.”

_That was cruel._

“It was a joke,” Azula hissed, stabbing her quill onto the scroll, ink splattering against lord Akashi’s fine wooden desk. He had complained about the abuse of his apartments once. The blackened burn that singed the desk at its edges was evidence that he’d learned very quickly not to do it again.

_You should be kinder to your brother._

“I wasn’t the one who left,” Azula whispered, the characters on the scroll blurring slightly below her.

_I’m sorry._

“You will be,” Azula promised, putting the finishing touched on her note. The look on poor little Zuzu’s face when he’d found the stupid little animal was hilarious. She wouldn’t be so nice next time. He had to learn he had to look after his toys if he didn’t want them taken away.

Ty Lee popped her head in, “Hey! Shiishii is here.”

Azula didn’t bother lifting her head, putting the final touches on her last note.

“It’s _Lord Akashi_ not whatever inane nickname you decided on,” Akashi’s shrill voice came from down the hall, getting closer with each word, “I demand to see her.”

“He demands to see you,” Ty Lee sang, rolling backwards to contort herself into a ball, leaning her chin against her palms as her legs framed her beaming face, “Should I let him?”

Azula thought about saying no, just to be contrary, but pasted on a sweet smile instead.

“We are but guests in his humble home,” She said, watching Ty Lee uncurl as easily as she’d fallen into position, “Let him speak his piece.”

As if on cue, the man strode into view, all righteous fury and no frame whatsoever with which to affirm his authority.

“Princess, I must speak with you,” Akashi said, and Azula thought very strongly about shoving a fistful of fire into his wobbling belly, “The others are getting impatient. They must know when it is our signal to strike.”

“Must they,” Azula said silkily, laying down her quill as carefully as if it were a dagger, “And why is that?”

“Iroh has been Fire Lord too long, your highness,” Akashi said, switching tactics as clumsily as her brother was with his firebending, “We only wish to see the rightful ruler restored to the throne.”

Azula let him squirm as she looked him up and down, finding him wanting in all counts, “Your loyalty is commendable, Lord Akashi,” Azula said, smiling sharply up at him, “Trust that it will be well met.”

“Of course, your highness,” Akashi said stiffly, and if she had her way, he’d be nothing but a crisp on the carpet, but alas, he had not yet outlived his usefulness.

_Why do you hate him so much?_

Azula choked back a hysterical bark of laughter at the question. She had lost everything, and Zuko had gained everything. She was the prodigy, the chosen one; his name literally meant _failure._ Yin was knocked out of yang. The balance of the world was grievously out of order. He needed to be broken, to understand his place in the world.

“A timeline,” Akashi blurted out, with more guts than she’d taken him to possess, “It is just – we would like to be prepared. It would not do, to let you down.”

“Is that so?” Azula exclaimed, sealing the scroll with a bit of wax. She gestured, and Mai materialized out of the shadows, taking the note from her with her usual sullen obedience. Mai tucked the note into her sleeve and brushed past Akashi without an acknowledgement.

“Never fear, Lord Akashi,” Azula said watching Mai leave, something greedy and possessive itching under her fingernails, “Agni will shine on us again.”

_ware to kite  
asobe ya  
oya no nai suzume_

| 

_come to me  
and play  
motherless sparrow_  
  
---|---  
  
The note was hard to read, as smudged and ink-splattered as it was, but the poem was one Zuko was familiar with.

 _Come to me and play_ , a taunt and an invitation all at once, _motherless sparrow._

Motherless. Zuko crumpled the note in his fist and took a deep bracing breath.

The north forest was where mother would have gone to if she’d escaped the caldera. Three days after she’d disappeared, Azula had dug out an old map and brought it to Zuko’s room, sat on his bed and traced a path with her fingers out of the palace, through the trees, and out towards the cliffs. The trading docks were close enough that mom could have caught a ship out. Where to, who could say.

Azula had her money on the bottom of the ocean, hidden from Agni’s eye forever, a fitting end for a murderous traitor. The cruel possibility of it had stunned Zuko mute with horror. Then the dazed grief came, vicious and numbing in turns. Zuko _had_ to believe she was out there somewhere, safe and, if at all possible, happy. The alternative was too horrifying to bear.

“Better dead than a living traitor,” Azula had hissed, her nails digging into his arm as tears spilled down his cheeks. He’d wanted to follow her, then. Pack a bag and ask the dock workers about a tall beautiful woman with hair the colour of fresh ink, eyes bright as fireflies, until they could point him towards her. “If you leave, I’ll call the guard. I’ll tell father.”

Fear shot through his heart at the threat. There was no telling what father would do if he found out Zuko had set out after mom, not when grandfather was dead just weeks after they’d heard about Lu Ten, and the crown sat so fresh on father’s head. 

“I haven’t done anything wrong.” Zuko had grit out, hating how he could not stop crying, “Come on, Azula. She loved you too.”

“She called me a monster,” Azula laughed, shrill, and already frayed with madness, “Don’t be stupid, Zuzu, she only loved herself.”

_Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to protect you._

“That’s not true,” Zuko said, scrubbing at his eyes, “She said–”

“Yes, that she’d protect _you_ ,” Azula said, tightening her grip until he yelped, “Grandfather would be alive if not for her. You should have died like you were supposed to, dear brother.”

“She didn’t kill him,” Zuko said, trying to pry Azula’s unyielding grip from his arm, “Let go of me, you’re hurting me.”

“Good,” Azula spat, and Zuko realized the tingle he felt where their skin met was heat and not a simple cut in his circulation, “Remember this pain Zuzu, it’s nothing compared to what the Fire Nation does to traitors. What it’d do to you if you do anything stupid.”

Zuko opened his mouth to argue, but Azula pressed in, a wild glee shining in her eyes as her bore down and her flame got hotter to the point of pain.

“Say you understand.” Azula snapped, ignoring Zuko’s quickening breaths, his fingers digging into her wrist, “Say it!”

“I understand.” Zuko gasped, and she finally let go enough that he could push her away. He clutched his arm to his side, bruised and bleeding slightly, but unburned.

“Now was that so hard?” Azula said, and sat back on her heels, satisfied. She gathered the map back and rolled it neatly, tying it with a string. He watched her go in silence, not trusting himself to speak as she made her way out, stopping just by the door.

“I’ll let you get your beauty rest now,” Azula said, silhouetted against the frame. Zuko watched her, heart beating so fast he thought he was going to throw up. “Good night, brother. Oh, and just in case you get any funny ideas.”

She held out the map and from her palms, flame curled to lick at the parchment until only ash remained in her hand.

So, whatever she had planned for him next was in the north forest. Out of the Caldera boundaries. Impossible to get to undetected. Great. Just great.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Terashi said when he arrived for their training session in one of the smaller courtyards. He almost growled at her but stopped himself in time, remembering the buckets.

“I’m fine,” Zuko said.

“Sure,” Terashi said. She looked at him speculatively from where she’d been leaning in the shade of the marble columns lining the courtyard. “Ready for some roof running?”

The last time they went roof running, Zuko had managed to stick his leg through a roof. Granted it was a straw roof for animals, and it only took them an afternoon to fix it.

“I thought we were banned,” Zuko said, squinting at her.

“And?” Terashi scoffed, pushing off the column to cross the space between them.

“We’ll get in trouble.” Zuko said dryly. It would be very difficult to step into whatever web his sister was laying out for him if he was in trouble. She had put in so much work after all that it seemed rude.

“Yeah, if we get caught.” Terashi said, grinning sharply at him, “Or are you an eel-chicken?”

If he was an eel-chicken, he’d have reported his sister’s very first note. Maybe what he was, was stupid. Whatever awaited him in the north forest was probably bad, and would almost definitely put himself and the people around him in danger. He’d entertained these notes long enough to know his sister was out there, and alive, and had access to at least writing utensils. Did he really need to know more than that?

Terashi must have taken his silence for an answer because she started clucking softly at him, then louder, then louder until he threw his hands up and said, “Fine! Let’s go! But I’m not fixing any more roofs.”

“That’s the spirit,” Terashi said, slinging an arm around his shoulders, “And you wouldn’t have to fix roofs if you didn’t fall through them. Now let’s see if you remember what I taught you last time.”

“Shingles,” Terashi called out, “Shingles. _Shingles!”_

Zuko stumbled on the landing, just missing the sharp gutter edges of a terrace roof. Down below a woman’s voice yelled, “ _Joon Hew, what was that?”_ to which a man grumbled out, “ _You’re hearing things again, Soo.”_ in reply.

“And he sticks the landing,” Terashi crowed from the next roof, giving him a sarcastic round of applause. Zuko prodded the roof with his foot and was relieved to find no loose shingles, if a few suspiciously new chips.

Terashi hopped over, almost insultingly light on her feet. She gestured for him to take a seat, and he did, if a little gingerly.

So, it was with shingles poking him in pretty uncomfortable places, she said, “What’s got you all distracted today, are you in love or something?”

“What?” Zuko squawked, feeling his face go hot and red.

Terashi’s slow grin made him want to jump off the roof and _run_ , “No way.”

“I’m not,” Zuko hissed, slapping her nudging elbows away, one hand held protectively over his ribs where, regrettably, she had found out he was ticklish, “Who would I even be in love with? All I do is hang out with you guys.”

“Awww,” Terashi cooed, dodging his hand to ruffle his hair totally the wrong way, “Oh my spirits, _is_ it one of us? Is it me?”

Zuko turned and pretended to gag, earning him a full-blown laugh and a shove that nearly sent him over.

“You’ll be in the springtime of your youth yet, little one,” Terashi said mournfully, hooking an arm around his, “They grow up so fast.”

“Shut up,” Zuko groaned, but didn’t untangle himself from her loose hold. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the late afternoon breeze ruffling their clothes and hair as the sun meandered lower into the horizon. His boots, dangling over the height, barely glanced her shins.

“Hey,” Zuko said at last, “Do you think there’s a difference between doing the right thing, and doing what you feel is right?”

He felt Terashi’s gaze on him and made himself breathe normally. It was a weird question, sure, but it wasn’t like he was giving anything away. Her armor clinked together quietly as she shifted, adding to the sounds of a city winding down for the evening. Zuko looked out towards the caldera, where the spreading rays of the descending sun bled purple and gold across the red city, and filled his lungs with the cool evening air.

“That’s a tough one, kid,” Terashi said at last, tucking her fringe behind her ear, eyes distant like she wasn’t really there, “I don’t know if I’m the best person to ask.”

“Sorry,” Zuko said, clasping his hands together. He shouldn’t have asked in the first place. “Forget it. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault,” Terashi said with a sigh, “I’m just being stupid, it’s a good question. Um, yeah, I guess if I had to give you an answer, then yes. There is.”

“Then how do you know,” Zuko ventured, because he’d come this far, he might as well take it the rest of the way, “What the right thing is?”

Terashi laughed unexpectedly. Not a mean laugh, nor cruel, but self-effacing. Like she was laughing at herself. She shuffled closer to him, clasping her own hands together, a mirror of his own pose. Their bodies were a V of bowed heads, tilted shoulders, knocking knees. Zuko leaned a little more into her warmth.

“Who the hell knows,” Terashi said, lips twisted into a wry smile, the gleam of her teeth the last bright thing in the fading light, “This is not a question a soldier asks in a war.”

“I’m not a soldier.” Zuko said carefully, feeling like he was being tested somehow.

“This is not a war,” Terashi shrugged, turning slightly away to look over at the horizon, “But you’re right, you’re not a soldier. If you were, you’d have the luxury of never needing to know the answer.”

“So there is one,” Zuko said, trying to hold on the thread of a conversation in danger of unraveling from him, “An answer.”

“Things like right and wrong isn’t determined by you and me,” Terashi said, “At least, not the right and wrong of what you’re supposed to do, and what you aren’t. But I’d trust whatever you feel over what you have to do any day.”

Zuko tried to parse through her words, and felt like he was hitting a wall. The truth felt far away, immaterial, like trying to cut water with his blades. “That sounds really complicated.” He admitted.

“Doesn’t it?” Terashi said, and let him stew for a little longer before she clapped him on the back, “Alright, enough philosophy, we’re losing daylight. C’mon, time to go. Last one home is a rotten egg.”

Home. Alright. Zuko took a breath and let it out slowly. He nodded and let himself be pulled up. In a sudden burst of energy, he feinted left, ducking right past her into a leaping head start; the sound of her surprised laughter trailing him all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on Twitter or Tumblr (see end notes for previous chapters), even if I check those platforms only sporadically. I honestly love knowing what you think about this AU and what you hope to see more of as the story continues.


	6. Why We Can't Have Nice Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ow!” Lu Ten yelped._
> 
> _“I hardly pricked you,” Tien Ho said, exasperation muffled through the pins in his mouth, “I wouldn’t if you’d just hold still.”_
> 
> _“Victim blaming,” Lu Ten pouted, twitching away from Tien Ho’s slim precise hands, “Ow, ow ow.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT. I know I tried to manifest this next chapter to be a) my last chapter and b) to be done before 2021, but alas, it was not to be so. I legitimately have the ending written and planned for, but things just kept happening. Anyway, the draft of his chapter sat sad and forlorn on my laptop for ages, and every time I plucked at it I hated it even more until I deleted whole chunks of it and rewrote it until I felt good about it again. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your continuous support! I feel so pleased that you have been with this story until now, and am always so grateful for any kudos and comments you guys send my way. 
> 
> Also! Somebody in the comments pointed out that in the prequel, I forgot to mention that Ba Sing Se and the Fire Nation are separated by a whole ass sea. I will rectify this in 'Run out of Road', and from now on will rely more heavily on the Fire Nation naval capabilities. Now please enjoy almost 20 new pages of Lu Ten being alive, and Zuko being honestly the best and also the littlest shit who could, and the Lu Ten gang being long-suffering.

“I can feel you sulking from here,” Terashi called out from where she was half-sunning herself under the shade of an overcrop of moss and rock, “Isn’t that supposed to be bad for your form?”

Zuko scowled but refused to be baited, focusing on the simple steps of his kata, the solidness of the hilt of his daō in his hands. Against his bare feet lapped gentle the tide, sucking at his toes as it dragged sand and seashell up and down the shore.

The sun bore down on them, greedy for its turn after a week of warm summer rain. He blinked sweat out of his eyes, ears already itchy with it. His tongue, swollen in his mouth, throbbed for water; it darted out to swipe at the thin layer of salt on his bottom lip.

It was Lu Ten’s birthday in a week. It seemed like the very stones of the palace buzzed with the knowledge, joy surging through the preparations like violets bursting with seed.

So too, Zuko’s home overnight had become a horror show of beady-eyed lords and their overly perfumed wives from all corners of the nation. They brought an abundance of gifts and servants and the kind of compliments that didn’t sound like compliments at all. There was hardly any room to move or breathe with the influx of nobility claiming every last square inch of Iroh’s hospitality.

Worst of all were their eyes. The disgust that turned into pity that turned into the kind of stammering platitude that made Terashi look like she was going to start stabbing someone. He’d almost seen her do it too, the glint of her knife peeking through her sleeve, and then gone as soon as the offending noble turned away.

And yet, Zuko could hardly begrudge Lu Ten a proper birthday, in his rightful home. Lu Ten’s last two birthday celebrations had been on Earth Kingdom soil, across vaster lands and seas than Zuko could ever hope to dream of. His family had sent presents of course, missives of well wishes, specially commissioned armor, weapons, and poetry, and so much wine it had to be loaded on two ships. Nothing less for a crown prince doing his nation proud on the warfront.

The year before, he and mother had had their own quiet celebration, rising before the sun on the actual day to visit the shrine. There, they brought to Agni some of Lu Ten’s favorite snacks as an offering, burning incense as Agni’s chariot rose to pull a new dawn across the sky.

 _Safety. Honour. Good health. Oh, and lots of sweets to eat please,_ Zuko had prayed, an incense stick clasped tight in his hands. He peeked out of one eye to see what his mother was doing, and she’d already been looking back at him, so deeply fond that he snapped his eyes back closed, cheeks hot, heart full.

It was hard, now, not to feel at least a little bitter how things turned out. That it was now his mother who was somewhere unreachable, across lands and seas Zuko could never hope to reach. That he could not burn incense for her, nor offer Agni anything to shine his golden eye on a traitor to the nation, no matter that she was his mother and he loved her.

He dug his heels in the cool sludge of the tide, fisting his toes into the sand. He wanted to run into the ocean and dunk his head into the water. Float away somewhere else. Anywhere else. The horizon opened before them, fanning out into miles and miles of the same. And beyond that were worlds where people moved earth, and bent water, and lived on ice-floes.

“Here,” Terashi said, unexpectedly close. He hadn’t even heard her coming. Startled, he whipped his head towards her, body tensed in preparation of an attack.

It was a mistake. He turned back around in a full body flinch, cheeks burning so hot he might as well combust. Terashi had gone ahead when he hadn’t been looking, and decided that the day was too hot for propriety. Her chest binding modest enough, but it was the principle of it, and anyway she was still a _girl._

Terashi clicked her tongue at him, her amusement palpable as she pressed the water canteen to his neck from behind. He squeaked, and then regretted it immediately as she burst out laughing.

“You’re ridiculous,” She said warmly, but he heard fabric rustling behind him, “Okay you can look, you big baby, I’m decent.”

“You’ve never been decent in your life,” Zuko grumbled, but did turn around, willing the flush in his face to cool down into something more manageable. Terashi’s shirt stuck to her in odd places, and he could still see some of her figure under it.

“You’re sweet,” Terashi said, taking back the canteen with a grin, “Is brooding still on the agenda, or do you wanna do something fun?” A sunburn was starting to streak across her cheekbones, a testament to the long days hiding out under the relentless sun. His shoulder blades gave a sympathetic twinge – the one place he couldn’t reach himself with lotion.

“This is fun,” Zuko said, instead of _I’m not brooding,_ because that was where madness lay, “Whatever you have planned instead? The opposite of fun.”

“Rude,” Terashi said cheerfully, “And also untrue. All my ideas have been fun for me.”

“Yes,” Zuko said, squinting up at her in exasperation, “Obviously all your ideas are fun for you. That’s why you have them.”

“You get me so well,” Terashi said, flicking an imaginary tear off her cheekbone, “Now don’t be shy, tell your big sister Terashi what’s the hell’s the matter so we can go somewhere where it’s not hot as fucking Koh’s hairy face-stealing balls.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, too hot and thirsty to dredge up the energy to be horrified, “I’m fine.”

“Right,” Terashi said, “And that’s why we’ve been hiding out here these past _fun_ few days, because you’re so fine _._ ”

Zuko scowled, “I wasn’t the one who almost stabbed Lady Chu yesterday.”

“You can’t prove anything,” Terashi scoffed, which totally meant he was right, “And anyway, so what if I was. I don’t know if you’ve caught on, but it’s my job to guard you from threats.”

“She was going to pinch my _cheek_ not assassinate me with her folding fan.” Zuko said, slow, like he was talking to a 5-year-old, “You didn’t have to over-react.” He didn’t know why he was baiting her, only that there was something hard and mean in his heart that wanted to make other people hard and mean too.

“Oh apologies _,_ my liege,” Terashi said, real irritation creeping into her voice. “Tell you what, hmm? Next time, I’ll let any old stranger do whatever they want to you, and hope their intentions are pure.”

“Yeah, duh, because no one’s going to do anything to me.” Zuko said, like it was obvious.

“What, you think a couple months of running around with sharp objects makes you impervious to danger?” Terashi said, laughing.

“No,” Zuko bit out, annoyed that he had to spell it out when it was so simple, “I don’t know what’s so hard to get. No one’s going to do anything to me because I’m not important!”

“What in the _hell_ are you talking about?” Terashi snapped, matching his rising tone, “Are you stupid?”

“Don’t call me that,” Zuko said, digging his toes deeper into the wet sand so he wouldn’t stomp on it like a child, “How is it not obvious?”

“Okay, so I’m stupid,” Terashi said, lifting her eyes to the sky, waving her hands dramatically for him to go on, “Tell me why it’s obvious, O genius prince of mine.”

“I am not valuable!” Zuko said, and his voice broke on the last syllable but he was suddenly too furious to care, “Even if I disappeared tomorrow, absolutely nothing important would change.”

She looked stunned to silence. Her jaw clicked audibly. Zuko could feel his heart hammering somewhere in his throat. He concentrated on taking steady breaths, teetering on the edge of hysteria.

“Is that so?” Terashi said at last. She smiled. It was not a nice smile. “So what I’m hearing is that you think you could just…disappear one day. If you wanted. And that would make no difference to anything at all.”

Her tone was mild enough but there was something to it that sent a chill down Zuko’s spine. It was there in the quality of her stare; her eyes, usually sparking with some mischief or another, now eerily devoid of warmth. His hands tensed briefly around the hilt of his daō.

He had never, not even once, thought of Terashi as an enemy. But he was a traitor’s son, wasn’t he? Receiving letters from a traitor’s daughter, hiding them like an accessory to something that was spiralling out of his control. Yes, maybe, he would disappear one day. The north forest pressed upon his heart, bait or a magnet drawing him away, away. He never considered that anything would happen if he ever followed through.

Terashi’s eyes flicked down to his wrists and then back up, watching him watch the sharp cold tilt of her mouth.

“I didn’t say that,” Zuko whispered, feeling caught under her unwavering stare, “I literally just meant. Don’t go around stabbing people just because you feel like it, that’s all.”

A beat, and then Zuko watched as Terashi’s wintry expression melted into incredulity, “You’re shitting me.”

“That is so disgusting,” Zuko informed her, scrabbling to get back onto familiar ground.

“Suck it up,” Terashi replied, and to Zuko’s relief, some of her easy bickering tone had eased back into her voice, “You should be used to me by now.”

“That’s not an excuse to keep being terrible,” Zuko said, sheathing his daō at last.

“You’re right,” Terashi said, which never boded well for Zuko, “Let’s go back to the palace right now and find the Lady Chu, and I’ll let her pinch your cheeks and cuddle you all she wants.”

Zuko scowled at her, “I hate you.” He lied.

“Or, _or,”_ Terashi said, completely ignoring him, “We could go somewhere else, _anywhere_ but this hellscape that has introduced sand into places sand should never have been.”

“Fine,” Zuko said, off-balanced still, and a little guilty that he’d been so selfish and cowardly lately, “Where do you want to go?”

Terashi grinned.

“Ow!” Lu Ten yelped.

“I hardly pricked you,” Tien Ho said, exasperation muffled through the pins in his mouth, “I wouldn’t if you’d just hold still.”

“Victim blaming,” Lu Ten pouted, twitching away from Tien Ho’s slim precise hands, “Ow, ow ow.”

“I wasn’t even touching you,” Tien Ho grumbled, even though he _so was_ , “I’ve seen toddlers sit for fittings better than you.”

“I bet you don’t poke _them_ ,” Lu Ten muttered. Tien Ho glared at him from under his eyelashes but didn’t deny it.

Birthday celebrations meant birthday commissions, and that meant new clothes and new armor and a truly horrendous procession of presents he would have to sit through and receive. Lu Ten didn’t see why he couldn’t go to his own party wearing the things he already had, but alas even his pragmatic father had advised the acquiescence to tradition and propriety.

It was the waste Lu Ten hated, the ostentatiousness for the sake of itself. But well, if he was going to put money in anyone’s pocket, it might as well be of those who needed it. And thus, Tien Ho was appointed the primary on the commission, because if Lu Ten had to sit through hours of portraits and fittings he wanted to do them with someone he _liked_. 

“Fu,” Tien Ho said, barely looking at the seamstresses standing at attention along the far wall, “Is this your best burgundy? This might as well be purple.”

“No sir,” said Fu, who was sturdy like an oak and the only one of them who hadn’t seemed at all cowed by Tien Ho’s prickliness, “It was the closest dye we had in the fabric and shade mix you requested.”

“I see,” Tien Ho said, in the cool clipped tone he adopted as he worked, which Lu Ten was going to tell him was very sexy as soon as he was safely away from the threat of being poked by a thousand vengeful pins, “What else do you have in mulberry silk?”

“Carmine,” Fu said, and she and Tien Ho exchanged a sardonic look, as if the very thought of Lu Ten wearing _carmine_ was laughable, “Hibiscus, blood.”

“Blood is a little heavy-handed,” Tien Ho said, and Fu lifted a dark eyebrow and nodded as if to say, _duh,_ “Nothing in Imperial?”

“Nothing,” Fu said, in tones that implied that she also did not believe it, “The request for the dye has been submitted several times. I spoke to both the palace steward and royal tailor Liew myself.”

“I see,” Tien Ho said, looking like someone had told him they’d not only peed in his morning gruel, but watched him choke down every bite, “And you said it was for the prince?”

“I did,” Fu said, “I was told that it would not come in time for the celebration.”

“Convenient,” Tien Ho said, the dent between his eyebrows broadcasting his unhappiness, “It’s like they’re conspiring to make our jobs harder.”

There was a silent ripple among the other girls, glances and twitches that was a language on its own. Fu remained deferential, but there was a spark in her narrow eyes that said otherwise.

“Carnelian,” One of the girls blurted out, then turned a fetching shade of pink when all eyes turned towards her.

“Speak Ueda,” Fu said, and the girl in question straightened to attention, “What about carnelian?”

The girl, Ueda, took a deep breath and in a voice only slightly shaky said, “Madam, we have a case of carnelian leftover from the last shipment.”

“From the General Won commission last spring?” Fu said skeptically, “I was not informed.”

“No madam,” Ueda said, flicking her eyes up Fu and then back down to her shoes, “General Won’s wife changed the order at the last second, and Machiko thought not to bother you with it.”

“The inventory was updated?” Fu said, at Ueda’s nod, Fu softened, “I trust Machiko’s discretion, that much is fine. Thank you for thinking to mention it.”

“Madam,” Ueda said, ducking her head in a quick nervous bow.

“Carnelian huh,” Tien Ho said, looking thoughtful, “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Not a bad match for skin tone,” Fu said, drawing closer to Tien Ho’s side. Lu Ten tried not to fidget. He valiantly bit back a joke about one of them buying him dinner first, as they methodically undressed him with their eyes.

“How many bolts can we make with the carnelian?” Tien Ho said finally.

“Enough,” Fu said, not bothering to look at her girls for confirmation, “How many do you want?”

“What’s your stock?” Tien Ho shot back easily.

Fu raised an eyebrow, her stoic expression slackening into a grin that seemed to take years off her face. The other girls called her _madam_ but it was then that Lu Ten realized Fu couldn’t be much older than they were.

“You’ll be compensated of course,” Tien Ho said, confident but for the glance he shot Lu Ten.

“You’re the boss, boss.” Lu Ten confirmed, pressing his lips together against a smile. Honestly, if anyone was his fishwife, it was probably Tien Ho.

“Ueda, Hino,” Fu said, snapping her fingers. The girls stepped forward, and Hino retrieved a small abacus from inside her heavy robes. Lu Ten watched, fascinated, as Hino’s elegant fingers flew across the board, Ueda’s quiet report mingling with the gentle clack of beads.

Ueda murmured the result in Fu’s ear, a price that Fu wrote on a piece of parchment, folded, and slid over to Tien Ho. He opened it, blinked at the number, then looked back up at the girls.

“Are you sure?” Tien Ho said, smirk wobbling into what looked like genuine delight. For that alone, Lu Ten would have spent twice whatever was on that paper.

“The price is fair,” Fu said, lips up-ticked into her genial smile, but her eyes gleamed like she and Tien Ho were in on a secret joke, “And anyway, the business this commission will drive to my shop will compensate the rest.”

“I hope so,” Tien Ho said, some of the stress lines around his eyes easing, “I accept. We had planned to build the robes from scratch. I think it would be appropriate to requisition the prince’s cape from his coronation. If I recall correctly, that was in the Imperial dye, with gold trim.”

“It would certainly fit the message,” Fu said approvingly, “The carnelian bolts are ready-made. If you like, this will give us some time to do more intricate embroidery.”

“Excellent,” Tien Ho said, clapping his hands together in satisfaction, “Liew is going to have a fit.”

“What do you mean?” Lu Ten said, mostly from curiosity, partly because he felt like he was being forgotten. “Explain to me in idiot’s terms.”

Tien Ho turned his good mood towards him, “Once you arrive at the celebrations in whatever we make you, every merchant in the caldera who work with cloth will be scrambling not only to remake the cut, but to purchase from Fu’s shop.”

“So if we buy every bolt of her carnelian, no one will be able to do it?” Lu Ten guessed, matching Tien Ho’s widening grin.

“Exactly,” Tien Ho said, looking deeply satisfied, “Liew’s going to be foaming at the mouth. Even if he catches wind and Imperial dye _conveniently_ becomes available, it’ll be too late. We’re going to make carnelian more valuable than _the official pigment of the royal family._ ”

This. This is what Lu Ten could get behind. It seemed such a small, silly, thing, to fight over bolts of cloth and shades of red; but weren’t these the little things on which the Fire Nation hinged its essence upon?

Not an abstract glory of a war that took more than it ever gave, nor the kind of honour promised by noblemen growing fat on someone else’s back. Lu Ten loved his people, almost gave his life up for them, and knew them to be honourable and filial and stubborn and petty to the bone.

He laughed. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“You can hold on to my hand or my sleeve, it’s up to you.” Terashi said, looking at Zuko expectantly. Zuko’s mouth opened in indignation.

“I’m not a child,” He whispered furiously, folding his arms tightly across his chest. Terashi smiled indulgently at him, but did not move.

“Suit yourself,” Terashi said, giving in suspiciously quickly, “Only don’t blame me if you get lost.”

Zuko had no idea how Terashi had engineered it, but somehow, she had garnered them access to the upper town market for the day. She had shown up right after he had cleaned up and changed, bullied him into a peasant disguise, and dragged him out of the palace before he could say anything against it. 

“Well, you haven’t gotten anything for Lu Ten’s birthday yet, right?” Terashi said reasonably when Zuko groused why he had to go _shopping_ of all things.

It was true. Zuko had no clue what to get his cousin, who was crown prince, and pretty much a grown-up. Whose actual presents from Uncle and the assembled nobility would be bigger and better and embarrassingly more expensive than Zuko could ever afford. He had actually been trying to _not_ think about it, and in doing so was making himself sick with nerves. 

“And you think I’m going to find it here?” Zuko said, hoping that his monotone and blank expression fully conveyed his deep skepticism.

Terashi just smiled sunnily at him, re-tucking her hair demurely into her headscarf as if she was the kind of person who cared about such things, “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Zuko had only been to the markets once in his life, and that was within the safety of mother’s palanquin. Sat on her lap, her arms tight around his waist as he peered out at the throng of waving, smiling, people.

It was different in person, jostled by an apathetic crowd who thankfully didn’t look twice at them despite his scar. It felt like too much, and all at once, with stalls and stores as far as the eye could see, and more people Zuko had ever been amongst at one time. Terashi, though, seemed to be completely at home here, leading them by tables full of wares laid out under large canopies; a plethora of colours and smells and sounds.

There seemed to be children everywhere, getting underfoot, bumping in Zuko’s legs like puma-kittens – there and then gone. Small, and cute, and mysteriously sticky.

“Hang on to your purse,” Terashi said after yet another unchaperoned kid crashed into him, but there was no chance of anyone pickpocketing him without him feeling it with how hyper-aware he was at every uninvited touch buzzing through his skin.

It was kinda scary, kinda nice. Like if he kept walking, he could disappear, become anyone else.

As if she’d read his mind, he felt a tug at his sleeve. He turned to see Terashi watching him quietly, none of her usual brashness in her face.

“Stick close,” She said, letting him go when he nodded.

Three hours in, and the novelty of being at the markets was starting to wear off in a big way. If Zuko had to look at one more ugly piece of pottery, or be told to ask his ‘big sister’ for some pocket money to buy one toy or another, he was going to hit something.

“Okay, what about this?” Terashi said, pointing at a clock in the shape of a leopard-owl. Zuko just grunted in reply.

“It’s like you’re not even trying.” Terashi said, reaching up to grab it in order to brandish it at him, “c’mon, at least look at it. He likes birds, doesn’t he?”

Zuko reluctantly accepted it, but no number of bird-shaped clocks would cure Lu Ten of his chronic inability to be punctual. It was almost a gift, the way that he was never able to show up on time, ambling from appointment to appointment with an amicability that meant he rarely got in trouble for it, and took it as permission to stay the course.

“Big sister dragged you out for a shopping trip huh,” The stall-keeper interrupted in the middle of Zuko’s musing, way too close for comfort. Zuko had to tense his whole body not to throw the clock at the man on instinct, “You have a good eye, that’s our best-seller this season.”

Zuko nodded, hoping the man would take the hint and go away, but the stall-keeper would not be deterred, “Here, see the fine workmanship? You won’t get the same anywhere else, especially not at Lao’s next door. No, no, I guarantee you’ll leave completely satisfied, and if you don’t, I’ll give you your money back.”

The stall-keeper had come closer and closer during his spiel, despite Zuko’s stilted attempts to lean farther away. Zuko was suddenly, sorely, tempted to just agree and buy it and just not have to deal with this whole stupid day anymore. But he knew he’d feel terrible for ages if he gave Lu Ten a dumb gift, and just kept his mouth shut.

“It’s fine craftsmanship,” Terashi said, stepping a little closer to Zuko, palm splayed possessively around the ball of his shoulder, “I think we’re going to look around some more but we’ll be back.” Smiling tightly, she plucked the clock out of Zuko arms, thrusting it none-too-gently into the stall-keeper’s surprised arms.

“We’re not actually going back, are we?” Zuko said once they were back out in the fresh air. He winced a little at how much louder it was outside, people shouting over each other to be heard in the cheerful din. His feet hurt, his head was sore from the heat and noise and proximity with so many bodies, and he just wanted to go somewhere dark and quiet and breathe for a moment.

“Don’t feel good?” Terashi said, looking down at him speculatively. Zuko shrugged. He’d felt worse.

And, he thought darkly, if he suffered this entire day with nothing to show for it, he was going to set something on _fire_ , missing inner flame or not.

“Alright,” Terashi said, giving him a friendly pat on the back, one that he was immediately suspicious of, “I got one more place to try.”

This time, Zuko let her lead him firmly by the edge of his sleeve as she took them out of the din of the market-square, pressing close to her as they moved against the crowd. He took a deep lungful of air, shoulders loosening, the ache in his bad ear dulling into a manageable throb. Terashi sneaked a couple of glances at him that he pretended not to notice. It was alright, he was fine.

There were fewer people as they went farther down into the quieter part of town. Their detour led them to a row of single-standing shops, tranquil music floating out of one into the street.

Across the street he saw, through a large wide-open window, a group of older women clustered together in a tea-shop. At the thought of food, his stomach took it as its cue to announce itself.

He felt his face redden, and he shot a glare at Terashi, daring her to say something. To her credit, she kept her mouth shut, although her eyes gleamed with amusement.

They finally stopped at one of the storefronts. It was mid-sized, its large tatami doors open wide to let the light in as women flit in and out, bearing reams of cloth. One of them caught sight of Terashi, and gave her a friendly smile as she drew closer.

“My, Terashi, it’s been a while,” The woman said in a soft musical voice; and there was something familiar in her narrow eyes, the shape of her face, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Just popping in for a visit,” Terashi said, “Is your brother home?”

“He’s in the back,” The woman said. Her gaze slid from Terashi down to Zuko who had been doing his darndest not to be noticed, “And who’s this?” She said, in tones that suggested she maybe already knew. Zuko blushed.

“This is Lee,” Terashi said, giving the fake name they’d settled on earlier, “He’s my cousin.”

“Hello,” said the woman, and if she didn’t believe them, she seemed to be too polite to say, “I’m Jian Wei, it’s nice to meet you, Lee.”

Zuko gave her a short bow, not trusting himself to speak, still a little red-faced. Terashi’s grin promised future ribbings about it.

They followed Jian Wei into the back of the store, past the milling customers who didn’t give them a second look. Jian Wei seemed to have many sisters, and Zuko tried not to scowl as the girls came up to them as they passed to coo at him.

Still, it was kinda interesting to see how people outside the palace lived. It seemed like a more straight-forward way of living. More cheerful. More honest and real, with fewer veiled words and hooded glances and dead-eyed smiles. People seemed to like each other here, greeting each other with naked warmth and affection. It was like this in the market too, even with all the shouting and barely lidded chaos – vibrant like somebody else’s loving home.

A customer came up to them on the way, and Jian Wei handed them off to yet another sister, a Jian something probably, there were too many. The pattern was pretty obvious after they’d been accosted by a Jian Li, Jian Hui, and Jian Chu. This one seemed to be the youngest of the bunch, maybe around Lu Ten’s age. Zuko was suddenly glad his cousin wasn’t with them, they’d be here forever with how much flirting Lu Ten liked to squeeze in.

“Where have you been hiding this cutie, Terashi?” Jian-something said, linking her arm through Terashi’s girlishly, which Terashi allowed with an indulgent smile.

“He’s too precious to be let out to the common public, especially with the likes of you around, Qi,” Terashi said without a trace of irony. The girl laughed, throwing her head back to reveal a long pale neck, a sliver of teeth between pink lips. She angled her other elbow out at Zuko in invitation, he responded by stuffing his hands deep into his pockets and tucking his own elbows close his body.

“Don’t mind him, he’s shy,” Terashi said, and Zuko’s ears burned a little at Jian Qi’s answering giggle. Qi led them to the lower rooms of the store, into what looked more like a living area.

“Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll go get him.” Qi said, “He’s been holed down there for ages, with the royal commission and whatnot.” She continued, pouting a little, “He’s been in such a lousy mood too. It’s actually good you came.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and disappeared around the corner, shouting, “ _Didi!_ Terashi’s here!” There was a low mumbled reply, and then Jian Chi’s louder, “Don’t be rude you little beast, come out and show some hospitality.”

Wide-eyed, Zuko turned to see Terashi hiding a laugh behind her fist, eyes sparkling. Zuko was about to ask what this had to do with Lu Ten’s birthday gift when Tien Ho appeared at the doorway, looking like he was looking for someone to stab.

“What the hell do you want?” Tien Ho said, deeply irked, gearing up for one of his famous lectures, when he caught sight of Zuko.

“What’s wrong?” He said instantly, ire giving way to concern. Zuko, eyes wide in surprise, shook his head quickly.

“What’s wrong is that you’re the worst host in the history of the world,” _Tien Ho’s sister_ said loudly from behind him, “Offer your guest some tea, for Agni’s sake. Look at Lee, he’s so skinny the wind’s going to pick him up and blow him away.”

“Lee?” Tien Ho repeated confusedly, looking at Terashi, then Zuko.

“Yes, Lee, my cousin whom you’ve met. Multiple times.” Terashi said, pushing Zuko forward cheerfully, “He’s looking for a birthday gift for his brother.”

“So many birthdays!” Jian Qi said, clapping her hands together as she squeezed by Tien Ho, knocking him aside, “It’s a very auspicious season to have one, what with the crown prince’s coming up next week.”

“Is it that time of the year already?” Terashi said innocently, which sent Jian Qi into peals of laughter for seemingly no reason at all. Tien Ho met Zuko’s eyes, long-suffering. Zuko returned it, feeling very glad to see a familiar face.

“Tea and sweets,” Jian Qi commanded imperiously, pointing at Tien Ho, “Bring out the good kind, Terashi is an honored guest from the palace, you know.”

Terashi grinned, winking at Zuko and Tien Ho as Jian Qi chattered on. Zuko followed Tien Ho out, as Qi started pestering Terashi on details of the upcoming celebrations.

“Have you eaten?” Tien Ho said, gesturing Zuko to sit at the kitchen table, a simple wooden thing with uneven legs that wobbled a little under Zuko’s elbows. Tien Ho looked weird without his armor on, more like a regular person, young and rumpled and kinda tired-looking.

“Not really,” Zuko said honestly. There had been tons of food at the market, but they hadn’t had time to stop.

“We don’t have much,” Tien Ho muttered, riffling through the shelves. He pulled out a tin of tea, and a few small red boxes, “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

Zuko shook his head, starting to feel bad for intruding what was obviously Tien Ho’s personal life. Tien Ho tossed him a packet of fire jerky, the kind they also had at the palace, and Zuko dug into it gratefully.

“This isn’t palace fare, so don’t expect much,” Tien Ho said gruffly, filling an obviously well-loved kettle with water. Zuko nodded with his mouth full, trying to earnestly convey that he’d eat anything he was given.

Tien Ho turned, and his pinched look softened a little when he saw Zuko’s expression. He came around and snagged the other chair, slumping in it, obviously at home in his surroundings. Zuko watched as Tien Ho yawned hugely into his palms, feeling his body relax as he stifled his own responding yawn.

“So, Lee huh.” Tien Ho said after a long silence where they both sat and watched the water slowly come to a boil. “Bet that was Terashi’s idea.”

It took a couple of tries, but Zuko finally got his mouth unstuck enough sound an affirmative.

“ _Lee,_ ” Tien Ho said again, shaking his head, but there was the beginning of a smile at the corners of his mouth, “Alright Lee, you like mooncake?”

“Yeah?” Zuko said. Who didn’t like mooncake?

Tien Ho stood and brought the red boxes over, prying them open to reveal beautiful little mooncakes in different colours inside, “You can pick your flavour if you cut these for me. There’s lotus, red bean, and salted egg. Which do you like?”

Zuko swallowed, mouth already watering at the smell. He pulled the cutting board towards him obediently. “I like them all?” Zuko ventured when Tien Ho looked at him expectantly.

“Good,” Tien Ho said approvingly, “Cut them into four portions then.”

Zuko did, sinking the knife into the sweet sticky dough, careful not to ruin the stamp pattern on the top. It was almost too pretty to eat, the fillings firm and solid and sweet-sticky on the plate.

Tien Ho set a cup in front of Zuko, and filled it to the top, doing the same with his own.

“Something the matter?” Tien Ho said when Zuko didn’t reach for it.

“Are you gonna have some?” Zuko said, frowning a little.

Tien Ho blinked, “Yes, obviously.” He said, gesturing at his tea and cake. “Go ahead.”

“But you’re older.” Zuko said.

“You outrank me.”

“Not here.” Zuko pointed out. Here, technically, he was Lee. Just somebody’s cousin. A comfortable, comforting, _nobody._

“ _Agni_ ,” Tien Ho said, exasperated, “You princes are all the same. Drink the damn tea and eat your cake. Look, we can do it together, see?”

Two slices of mooncake in, and Zuko was feeling much more charitable to the world in general. Eventually, as the initial awkwardness dissipated, Zuko found himself talking about his day.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust Cho Li with shit-all,” Tien Ho said as Zuko described the over enthusiastic clock seller, “He says all his clocks are made in-house, but everyone knows he gets them all from the lower towns and then resells them at insane prices. He’s a quack.”

“Is that allowed?” Zuko said doubtfully, “If everyone knows this, how come he still gets to do it?”

Tien Ho shrugged, “Good question,” He said, pouring Zuko, and then himself, more tea, “Guess people need clocks but don’t want to go down and get’em for themselves. Anyway, no number of clocks is gonna make your cousin show up anywhere on time.”

“I know!” Zuko said, feeling deeply vindicated, “Was he like this in the war too?”

“Oh, constantly,” Tien Ho said easily, “We used to tell him meetings were earlier hoping that even if he was late he’d be on time.”

“Did that work?” Zuko said skeptically.

“Like one time,” Tien Ho said, disgruntled, “And then he figured it out, and figured that it was the same for all meetings so he got _worse.”_

They were on their second pot of tea when Terashi and Jian Qi entered the kitchen, a small variety of snacks between them from Tien Ho’s stash he’d sworn Zuko to secrecy over.

“I said bring out the tea and sweets, not hog them,” Jian Qi scolded, swiping a piece of cake off Tien Ho’s plate, “I was wondering what was taking you so long.”

Terashi didn’t look too bothered, leaning against the wobbly table by Zuko’s seat, “Did you figure out what to get your brother, Lee?”

Zuko started, guilt creeping in. He hadn’t thought about it, too wrapped up in what had turned out to be a pretty good afternoon after all. Tien Ho looked over at him, and then at Terashi.

“Lee’s going to help me with some embroidery,” He said, as if this was something he and Zuko had discussed. “Nothing fancy, but I’m sure his brother will love it.”

“Aren’t you busy with the prince’s robes?” Jian Qi said confusedly around a mouthful of mooncake.

“Yes.” Tien Ho said, looking over at Zuko. “But I think I have room for something special. If Lee’s still up for it.”

“Is that really okay?” Zuko said haltingly, “What if I mess up?” This wasn’t practice stitching or a simple toy fix, where a slip of a finger didn’t have national consequences.

“Do you want to?” Tien Ho said, steady, as if it was the only criteria that mattered.

“Yes,” Zuko said, feeling small and brave at the same time, “I do.”

Jian Qi looked from her brother to Zuko with a small puzzled smile, “That’s nice,” She said, “I’m sure he’ll love whatever you make for him.”

“He will,” Tien Ho said decisively, looking like he was warming up to the idea, “We’ll get started tomorrow. Make sure you’re ready.”

In the swirl of Lu Ten’s half-formed thoughts, he drowsed in the dark, rebelling against sleep in some strange childish reasoning that he could not fully articulate.

He felt weighed down by days. Every touch he endured, every congratulation, like sandpaper against his skin. It was only his father’s eyes, overfull with gratitude, that made it all worth it. That in a room of a hundred men who wished he’d died as he was supposed to in Ba Sing Se, there remained a reminder why it was good he didn’t. 

He blinked slowly up at the shadowy figures on his ceiling, shifting mindlessly in his bed as his restless brain jumped from dream to dream.

And it was in this liminal, haunting darkness he heard a soft, “Boo.”

Terashi couldn’t stop laughing.

“I hate you.” Lu Ten said with feeling, his heart thundering in his ears. She tried to help him out of the tangle of his bedclothes, but he swatted her hands away, laughing despite herself. She laughed too, as if he hadn’t almost scalded her with reflexive fire, punched out so close to her face he’d almost singed the tips of her hair.

Now the candles were lit, and his room, golden with light, seemed a different place than the one he’d been slowly suffocating in. Terashi made herself comfortable at the end of his bed, legs crossed, and watched him fuss himself into tidiness.

He was glad that she was there. He’d been feeling a little lonely lately, in between the birthday preparations, and the endless kow-towing, and not being able to see any of his friends or train or anything. He did not have to say all this, but her eyes glittered at him as if she knew.

“Are you here to give me my birthday present?” Lu Ten joked, pulling his night robe more comfortable against himself.

“Alas, I am but a vassal,” She said piously, palms pressed together in mock supplication, “any gift of mine would be unworthy.”

Lu Ten squinted at her, lips pressed against a smile, “I should just tax you more, I think.”

“Have mercy,” Terashi said, but did lift her eyes full of humor towards him, “I’ll do you one better.”

There was tea in his room, because he was his father’s son, and snacks. Terashi pulled a small knife out of her sleeve to slice an orange, the spray of juice just missing his eye. He crammed a hand in an old bag of fire chips, and it was like being children again, although nothing in his childhood was like this.

Between mouthfuls of salt and grease, Terashi spoke of the long days spent making sure Zuko was in the palace as little as possible. Lu Ten felt sore with missing time with his cousin, but if the pit-vipers were disappointed by Lu Ten’s survival, they looked down on Zuko’s with disgust.

“I think the princess is planning to grab him,” Terashi said, sucking juice from her fingertips from their second shared orange, “He’s been getting real jumpy about it.”

“You think he wants to go?” Lu Ten said, alarmed. Surely it was not so bad in the caldera that Zuko would willingly go back into the monster’s jaw. If he’d failed Zuko in any way he would never forgive himself.

“What that child wants, and what that child thinks is his duty, is rarely the same,” Terashi said, contemplating a segment of fruit, “Especially if she can make him believe that going with her is for the greater good.”

“Well,” Lu Ten said, floundering, “It isn’t.”

He expected her to roll her eyes, to say something along the lines of how obvious of a statement it was, how unnecessary to say it. Instead, it grew quiet. She tucked the orange segments into her cheek and sighed.

“Ozai is amassing a great number of sympathisers in lesser time than we thought possible,” Terashi said, hands clasped together loosely at her folded ankles, “My people say it’s not just the nobles, but the common folk too. They think the war made them rich, put food on their plates, brought honour to our nation for a hundred years.”

“That much I know,” Lu Ten said, because he did pay attention at the daily military briefings even if he didn’t show it, “But we also crushed them under the weight of it, and sent their children to be slaughtered.”

Terashi held out a pacifying hand, “No one likes change,” She said, “It’s the ones who never saw action who are complaining. Lots of our young men used the draft as a means to send money home to their families. They don’t know where their income will come from now that we’re starting to call them home.”

Lu Ten groaned into his palms, sick with all the things he couldn’t control. Terashi leaned over and patted him on the shoulder.

“There, there, you poor thing,” She said tonelessly, “Hey, do you have any extra fire, fire flakes left? These ones are kinda stale.”

Lu Ten opened one eye to glare balefully at her, “People who break into my room in the middle of the night while I’m trying to sleep should bring their own food.”

“Okay, grumpy,” Terashi said, “Look, I think not having the war is great! I’m all for not killing kids and maybe balancing out the old karma scale. Some people are just…visual learners. They’ll come around once they see the benefits of not being the murder capital of the world.”

“Is that…treason?” Lu Ten marveled to no one in particular, “How do you make normal things sound like treason.”

“It’s a gift,” Terashi said, “Anyway, look, all I’m saying is that your uncle has some sort of secret sauce that makes people see him as more of a god than a man. Nothing against your father, but Ozai’s platform is prettier, shinier, and promises a lot of glory it doesn’t really have to give.”

“Say you’re right,” Lu Ten said, which they both knew meant she was, “What does that have to do with Zuko leaving?”

Terashi propped her chin on the ball of her palm. The shadows of her angular face deepened as she turned away to consider the question. Outside, the birds were starting to thrill at each other, rustling as they hopped along looking for food. Dawn would come soon, and with it a new day full of the same old thing, headed towards only Agni knew what.

She said, “Do you know what he said to me today?”

“Tell me.”

“He said that if he left, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“That’s not–”

“I know it isn’t true, but he thinks so.”

“Why would he?”

“Because he thinks he’s not important,” Terashi said, and put a quelling hand on his own so that his protest died in his throat.

Lu Ten took a breath, and then another.

“The princeling isn’t stupid, I’ll give him that,” Terashi said, rubbing tiredly at her temple, one eye pinched shut, “You can’t use him for ransom – yes, I know you wouldn’t that’s not the point – and he’s still linked to Ozai’s name. There will be no peace for him within this household, and no love for him without.”

“So he shouldn’t leave,” Lu Ten said, helplessly angry.

“I agree,” Terashi said, “Because Ozai will have no qualms using him as ransom against us.”

“Then why–”

“I don’t presume to know,” Terashi said, cutting him off remorselessly, “A misguided sense of duty, his attachment to his sister, threats that we don’t know about? But we have to be prepared that he will leave, or be taken. That’s what’s important right now.”

Zuko’s room was mere doors away. If Lu Ten went now, maybe he could slip into Zuko’s room and watch him from the shadows like an absolute creep and make sure nothing could hurt him. He wondered if this was what his father felt, what his mother used to feel, what Ursa, Agni bless her, felt even now. The yearning to hide those you loved from all the evils of the world, clinging so tight as to fuse bone to bone.

Only Terashi’s loose hold around his wrist kept him in his bed. He looked into her patient eyes and eventually calmed down enough to match his breathing to hers.

“Like fuck are we letting anyone take him,” Terashi said quietly, “Over my dead and thrice-damned rotting body.”

“And mine,” Lu Ten said grimly, “Let it be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill! Talk to me on twitter or tumblr...links in the notes of my previous chapter. I love you all, and I hope to get that last chapter of this arc out as soon as I can! Any wild mass guessing or theories are welcome!


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